


Nocturne

by delicaterosebud



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Demon Hanzo Shimada, Demon Sex, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Horror, Hunter Jesse McCree, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Slow Burn, The World's Most Dangerous Blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-04-19 12:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 61,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14236962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicaterosebud/pseuds/delicaterosebud
Summary: After his mentor goes missing in the forest of Aokigahara, Jesse McCree, a member of the world-renowned Overwatch hunting guild, finds himself alone in his desire to save him. Receiving little support from his teammates, who have deemed his rescue effort to be too risky, Jesse must turn to an unexpected - and rather unpleasant - companion for aid.During their travels together, however, he and the demon named "Hanzo" grow closer, and Jesse learns that the concept of good and evil isn't quite as simple as he had presumed.





	1. Chapter 1

Amaterasu, hear my cry –

Have I not suffered? Have I not bled?

Though my heart remains wicked and shies from the light,

Still I reach for the sun

I slip, and I stumble, and yet persevere.

I lay my soul bare, I hunger and yearn.

Is that alone not evidence of my growing regret?

 

What more must I do to cleanse my soul?

How much longer must I wait for the answer to my prayers?

I hunger and yearn yet deny myself still.

My stomach in knots, yet I do not feed

In the name of temperance and all that is good. 

Does that alone not signify the depth of my remorse?

 

What more can I do to cleanse my soul?

My resolve, it wavers. I am barred from your temple.

The months turn to years

Spring to summer, fall and winter

 

Though my heart cries for mercy

I hunger and yearn

_I hunger and yearn_

And can bear it no longer – 

 

If redemption lies forever beyond my grasp

Then _let_ my soul fall to darkness

…I can bear it no longer

 

____________________________________________

 

They’d received the distress call at midnight. 

Rushing to the conference room, the few remaining members of the reformed European branch of Overwatch, humanity’s last line of defense between peace and anarchy, man and demon, had crumbled away into panic.

Jesse could still remember that creeping feeling of helplessness, staring up at the blinking screens - his ears, ringing from the blaring alarms that warned of his mentor’s failing vital signs. Over a thousand miles away from him, he could do nothing but wait as Jack’s lifeforce drained away from his body.

…He was about to lose a friend.

His teacher.

The closest thing to a father he’d ever known, ever since the man who sired him left him behind. 

Winston typed away at his computer, fingers flying, to quickly bring up Jack’s audio feed. They could barely hear him through the static.

_Mayday – came out of nowhere …… It’s following me…! Can’t outrun it…. I - silver bullets… no effect. Need backup! …….Aokigahara!_

The _terror_ in his voice unnerved them.

The Overwatch team of demonslayers had argued for hours, running in circles, worrying themselves sick, while trying to form a rescue plan. And yet six hours later, there was still no progress. Helplessly, they huddled around the conference table, tired and miserable. They hadn’t heard from Jack since that last message, and yet, fearing the unknown, nobody wanted to look for him. Not without gathering more information, first, from a safe and comfortable distance – even though there was no guarantee that Jack would live long enough for them to form a proper plan to begin with. Nobody but Lena and Jesse were willing to jump into a transport and save him, personally. Nobody wanted to help, even though Jack was always the first one leaping into action during a distress call. Even when he would have risked life and limb for any of them.

It was “too dangerous,” Winston had said, holding Jesse back when he attempted to storm out of the room, towards the flight deck. Apparently, Jack’s team, comprised of a few members from the Asian branch of Overwatch, had _also_ disappeared - seemingly into thin air. He argued that they needed to uncover what was actually happening, instead of blindly rushing in, guns blazing. 

His reasoning had been enough to sway Tracer, but in Jesse’s opinion, a quick rescue was _exactly_ what they needed.

After all, while Jack was still alive, it wouldn’t be for long. Even if he had managed to fight off the demons that were coming for him, if he was injured in any way, it was just a matter of time before they found him again. 

A phoenix was not the only creature that could rise from its ashes.

Demons never died; it was a well-known fact and part of the reason why humanity needed Overwatch. Instead of simply dying, their bodies would dissolve into a fine powder, and then within a single night – or perhaps a week, if the damage was severe - their ashes would liquify, release heat, form a gel, then… somehow coalesce into the same, terrible form that the demon had held since what was likely the beginning of time. 

No matter how many demons Jack defeated, they would always come back, hunting for him. Time wasn’t a factor. Demons could survive without water and light. They could survive without food – though they certainly didn’t like it. 

According to the testimonials of a few of their “guests” in the basement, or rather, the _dungeons_ of Watchpoint Gibraltar, demons were always hungry. That was, perhaps, the only trait that united the thousands of species across the world: from tiny pixies to massive ogres, they were always, _always_ hungry. The strangest thing, however, was that ordinary food turned to ash in their mouths. 

They needed flesh. _Human_ flesh. …And even then, they were never sated.

…He couldn’t let that happen to Jack.

But as strong as Jesse was, he knew that he would never be able to help him, alone. Ironically, Jesse’s only hope of staging a successful rescue mission, now that Winston had put a delay on Overwatch’s official rescue efforts, was by relying on a _demon_ , of all things. A demon familiar with Japan. 

…They had only one. 

An _oni_ : an older member of the species – experienced and powerful, having gorged itself on so much blood and flesh, that during its prime, its horns had grown as long as its arms, glowing a blinding, shimmering gold and radiating pure energy, hotter than molten iron. 

It had terrorized the Japanese countryside for centuries, until Overwatch’s Asian branch had subdued the creature, two hundred years in the past… though only after it had devoured an entire village. Even women and children weren’t spared. 

He’d seen the photographs of the battle, himself. While the images of the demon itself were blurred – just as how all supernatural entities would fail to appear on film - Jesse couldn’t mistake the ribbons of burnt flesh and intestines hanging from its horns. The only evidence remaining that the agents it had impaled during the fight had ever truly existed.

It had been a long and arduous battle. Their silver sword and bullets had done nothing; the monster’s hide was so thick that they didn’t even make a scratch. The only things that had managed to harm it were weapons made of demon bone – and even then, they only slowed it down. Its wounds healed so quickly… It wasn’t until one of their researchers had enchanted a sword with holly and _sardine heads_ of all things, that they were able to weaken the integrity of the monster’s body and force it to collapse into a pile of ash.

They’d gathered up its ashes, shoved it into an urn made of adamantium, transferred it into a cage of the same material, and… there it had stayed ever since. They kept it in that very same cage for two hundred years, even during its transfer to Switzerland, to be vivisected by Dr. O'Deorain - and after the Swiss branch had collapsed, well… now it was here, in Gibraltar, rotting away in the dungeon. 

Having learned everything that they could about the beast, Overwatch had no use for it, other than to harvest its horns and teeth for weapons, now and then. It was just another resource. Just another way to ensure that humanity could stand a chance in a war that never ended. Nobody ever gave that demon a passing thought, anymore. 

Though to Jesse, that oni just may have been more helpful than he’d presumed. 

According to the archives located near the entrance of the dungeon, the village that it had attacked had been located on the base of Mount Fuji, close to the woods where Jack had disappeared. Perhaps the oni knew something of the place. 

Japanese demons, _yōkai_ , were strangely social, after all: not like somber, Romanian strigoi and shy kikimora. Yōkai tended to know one another – or at the very least, they knew _of_ each other, from living together for such a long time. Most demons, like werewolves and vampires, tended to roam, but yōkai rarely, if ever, left the island where they were born.

If it resided in Aokigahara, then there was a high chance that it would be familiar with other demons in the area. Maybe it would even know of spells that could be used to repel them. …Or maybe it was just a stupid ogre that knew nothing. If there was even the slightest chance that it knew something that could be of use to him, however, then Jesse needed to ask. Simple as that. 

It was for that reason, and that reason alone, that he ventured down even further into the darkest depths of the watchpoint’s dungeon to seek out a monster beyond redemption.

The demons in Watchpoint Gibraltar were kept weak: never fed, never socialized, never permitted a moment’s rest. Some of them had been trapped for decades. Some, even longer than that, moved from one hunting guild to another over the centuries. From all around him, from every cage in the dungeon, came a string of mournful sighs, pathetic little whimpers, begging and crying for food. Not that Jesse gave a damn. 

Those monsters, those _murderers_ , could starve for the rest of eternity, for all he cared.

He stalked past endless rows of cages, ignoring the pleas of their inhabitants, trailing down endless flights of stairs, until he came to an isolated chamber, deep in the bowels of Watchpoint Gibraltar. It contained only a single cage: a beast undeserving of even the most basic forms of human kindness. 

A hideous monster… with a listless, defeated expression on its face.

It was the first time that McCree had ever visited the creature. The only ones who ever bothered coming so far down into the basement nowadays were Winston and Angela, for the sake of their research, as well as Torbjörn, to harvest materials to forge their weapons. An oni’s horns could pierce through just about anything. …Old Torby must have made a harvest recently: the oni’s formerly proud, gleaming horns were now nothing more than stubs. 

In a way, the creature almost looked _pitiful_ , kneeling there, shackled, tagged, and collared. 

McCree took a step forward - just narrowly avoiding a pool of the oni’s blood, blacker than tar, that had pooled onto the stone floor after seeping out from of the base of its horns. The inky, black substance fell down the creature’s forehead and spilled over its cheeks, reminiscent of tears. It soaked into its hair and trailed down its muscular body, naked, only for a torn and stained loincloth. 

When the creature looked up at him, Jesse stared back, searching those pools of dull, milky white for any hint of self-awareness.

…It was hideous. 

When the creature blinked, it had two sets of eyelids – one of them, horizontal. Bony protrusions burst forth from its hide, littering its back and shoulders with wicked spines. Long, black claws jutted from the creature’s hands and feet. And those _teeth_ –

A mess of jagged fangs, with two protruding tusks, growing from the bottom row, longer than Jesse’s middle finger and shaper than razors. 

Though it hunched over in its chains, meek and quiet, though its long, pointed ears were pressed back in discomfort – and perhaps even fear – Jesse steeled his heart and reminded himself of that fact that it was a _monster_. 

“Hey, you. Oni,” Jesse began, tapping on the adamantium bars, “Can you speak English? Can you talk?”

He wouldn’t have been surprised if it couldn’t. Oni and other types of ogres weren’t exactly known for their intelligence. He waited for a moment, though received no answer.

“…Stupid demon.” 

Losing his temper, he kicked at the bars of its cage, before angrily tugging off his glove and pressing his pocketknife up to his palm. 

“How ‘bout now?” he asked a little louder. The creature finally, _finally_ perked up its ears, subconsciously drawing closer, “You answer my questions, and maybe you get a little bit of blood today. So do you or do you not understand what I’m saying?”

“…I do,” the creature responded at last, its voice, deep and haunting, grainy and inhuman – like a beetle, scratching at his eardrums. Though Jesse would never admit it, he found the creature _frightening_. A part of him wanted nothing more than to turn tail and flee, but he stood his ground, feigning courage. 

“Good.” He let out a relieved, trembling breath. At the very least, he hadn’t come down to the basement to talk to a brick wall. For just a moment, he considered lying about his intentions – lying about Jack - before realizing that there was little point in the matter. There was no need to maintain an honorable façade in front of a creature that didn’t so much as understand the _definition_ of honor. “I’m gonna ask you a couple questions, and you’re gonna hear me out. If you can listen and give me honest answers, even if the answer is that you don’t know, I’ll still let you eat. Alright? …Now, I need a companion for a hunt. A guide. Someone who knows demonology, spells, things like that.”

“Why do you not rely on your fellow hunters for such a task?”

“I can’t. Not this time.” Usually, it was the resident bookworms who provided them with information about antitoxins and demon vulnerabilities, protective charms and healing wards. Mei, Winston, and Angela took care of the research, and the field agents did the dirty work. …Though with all three of them advocating for Overwatch to bide their time until more information surfaced, Jesse knew that he couldn’t rely on them. Not if he wanted to find Jack alive.

He sighed, wrapping his hands around the bars of the oni’s cage and pulling himself closer. “Look, I’ll be honest here: one of my friends is missing in Japan: in a place called ‘Aokigahara.’ Now, I owe him a lot; I owe him my _life_ , but everyone here is too afraid to go lookin’ for him -” 

“As they should be,” the demon spoke, knocking the wind from his lungs with the sheer _frigidity_ of its tone, “Aokigahara is the birthplace of shinigami.”

He’d heard of them. Shinigami, death gods, grim reapers… a creature of many names, but only ever a singular story: demons that fed on life itself, sapping it away. 

“Shinigami, huh? What other kinds of demons are there? What do I need to look out for?”

“There _are_ no other demons. Shinigami are predatory, even towards their own kind. Even if we are immortal, it…” The oni looked away for a moment, choosing its words carefully. Jesse had the strangest feeling that it was holding something back – not that he was about to pry, if it wasn’t relevant. “Losing our physical form is… unpleasant.”

“Okay, so I’ll be up against shinigami and nothing else.” That was helpful, at the very least. “So, how do I fight one? I’m guessin’ silver and bone won’t cut it, this time. Do I need a spell? I know that it was... fish heads and holly that did you in – what ingredients do I need to collect to beat a shinigami?”

“I do not have any information to share with you. To my knowledge, a shinigami has never been defeated in combat.” Its double eyelids narrowed, then, strange and otherworldly - “And I have no intention to join you on your _suicide mission_.”

“Well if the two of us died, you’d be unsupervised and _free_!”

“As I mentioned previously, losing my physical form is unpleasant. …More so than I am able to express in words.”

Jesse grumbled, thinking of how he could possibly bribe the thing. “Well, what if I can promise you access to blood once a week for the rest of my life? Not a lot of it, mind you, but… enough to give you a taste? Look, I know you’re hungry. You’ve been down here, gettin’ carved up month after month, without gettin’ a single drop of blood in you. Well, now’s your chance. I know that a human lifespan don’t seem like a long time for a demon like you, but gettin’ forty years of blood is better than nothin’, ain’t it?”

The creature didn’t respond for a moment. It only wiped at the inky blood on its face, careful not to scratch itself with its own claws, dripping with venom.

“Perhaps. …What are your terms and conditions?”

“I ain’t lettin’ you walk free. If we do this, we’re formin’ a contract. I’m bindin’ your spirit to mine; you ain’t gonna be an unchained demon. If you disobey my orders, if you end up bein’ more trouble than you’re worth, I’m shippin’ you off to the nearest watchpoint, and I’ll make _damn_ sure your little cage here in Gibraltar feels like a fuckin’ day spa in comparison. Are we clear?”

“Then I am to be your familiar?” the creature scoffed, with more emotion in its voice than he had ever heard, previously, “Your _servant_?”

It was only natural for it to be afraid. A bound demon, after all, was nothing more than a tool, completely vulnerable to its master’s whims. Under an oath, Jesse would have the ability to hurt it - to boil the very blood in its veins and _worse_ \- with only a carelessly uttered spell. To a demon, forming a contract and relinquishing its true name was equivalent to sacrificing its freedom.

“Technically,” Jesse sighed, running his fingers through his hair, “But _only_ technically. Look, I… I promise I won’t take advantage of the fact that you’re bound to me. I swear it on my life. On _Jack’s_. I won’t hurt you for no reason. I can’t promise that I’ll go out of my way to make you comfortable, but I won’t treat you like a slave. If it’s not for the sake of the mission, I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. I just… I need help, here. I need someone that ain’t affiliated with Overwatch. That’s all. Now, I know we’re both bitter towards each other; I know our people don’t get along. I don’t like demons, and you don’t like humans. But we’re both grown men - or a grown man and a grown _whatever the hell you are_. Don’t you think we can work together long enough so that both of us can get somethin’ out of this?”

As a gesture of goodwill, Jesse cut a deep slit into his palm and extended it into the cage, beckoning the oni with a gentle click of his tongue, as though enticing a timid pony. 

“Here,” he offered with a forced, nervous smile, “First drink’s on the house. Just… promise not to bite me – okay?”

Drawn to the smell of blood, despite its exhaustion, the tired, old oni, looking so small despite its massive size, dragged its bruised and broken body across the floor, to grasp at Jesse’s hand. Instinctively, he tried to pull back, realizing that, at that moment, the monster could have snapped his wrist between its jaws – 

But instead, it knelt forward and flicked its little, forked tongue, pitch black, into the growing puddle of blood, lapping at it gently. …Though it was horrid and monstrous, though its acidic saliva burned and tingled Jesse’s hand, for some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking that the creature almost looked docile, at that very moment. Despite its obvious hunger, it never once sucked at Jesse’s wound or tried to bite at his flesh. Though it was on its knees, licking at blood, it looked… _dignified_ , somehow. 

When Jesse tried pull his hand away for a second time, however, the monster actually _growled_ – before shaking its head, as though remembering its civility. “I understand that time of the essence, but… I would like to have a little bit more,” it requested, averting eye contact. 

It was a monster, a beast, and yet somehow, for some crazy reason, Jesse actually felt sorry for it. He supposed that was the difference between a human and a demon: humans still knew the meaning of pity. 

“No, that’s enough for now. We gotta get out of here before the next guard shift rolls around. Plus, this’ll actually be my first time castin’ a binding spell. I, uh… might not be as quick as some of the others.”

“...You do not know what you are doing.”

“ _Yes, I do_ ,” Jesse argued, quickly binding up his hand to mask the smell of blood, “…Kind of.” 

He had to bind a familiar during his tests to become a full-fledged agent of Overwatch, though he had never had to cast the spell ever again. Nobody ever had. After all, the idea of binding one’s soul to a demon, of travelling with one, of working together with one, was enough to make a human’s skin crawl.

“In order to bind you to me,” he continued, “I gotta know what your name is – and not some bullshit nickname humans gave you a thousand years ago like ‘Ogre of the Southern Swamp’ or somethin’. I need your _true_ name.” 

Every demon had one, though none ever uttered it aloud. Names held power, after all. The oni looked down at the floor, lost in thought. Through those cold, cloudy eyes, its gaze looked a thousand miles away, lost in the fog. The minutes ticked by in peaceful silence, and Jesse grew worried that the monster was getting cold feet, intimidated by the thought of losing its freedom. 

Though after a moment, it became clear that the oni had just… _forgotten_. 

“It was… a long time ago,” the creature began, “I have not felt the need to recall my name for many years, now. But I remember. When I was a boy, my mother used to call me… _Hanzo_. Shimada Hanzo.” 

Did demons even have mothers? Jesse hesitated, then; his eyes, narrowing. “I thought all oni were male.”

“…We are.” 

He’d expected a better explanation than that, though he supposed that it was neither the time nor the place to satisfy such frivolous curiosities - and it wasn’t as though the oni were obligated to share its life story. Jesse shook his head, forcing himself to focus. 

“Okay - Shimada Hanzo. Shimada Hanzo…” He repeated that name to himself over and over, fearful that he would fail to recite it perfectly when the time came. “Am I sayin’ that right?”

“No.”

He waited for clarification, then… though the demon said nothing further.

“Well, a little guidance would be nice, in that case!” he snapped, losing his temper at the creature’s stupidity.

“I had been under the impression that every hunter was able to speak over a dozen languages, if only for the sake of reciting spells. …Or did that rule apply only to the Japanese branch of your organization? A pity, though I held low expectations for your kind from the very beginning.”

“’My kind?’ You mean humans? You mean the guys who beat your ass and dragged you down here?”

“I was referring to humans from across the sea. _Foreigners_. You have such narrow perspectives and such unrefined tastes. Do you know nothing of language? It is pronounced: _Hanzo_. A as in ‘far.’ Not as in ‘ _hand_.’”

Getting scolded by a fucking ogre… Jesse bit down into his cheek, muffling his protests so that he didn’t ruin their working relationship before it even began. 

…Though perhaps one little quip wouldn’t hurt.

“Fine. Well, I’m ready whenever you are, _Hand_ zo.” With an irritated scoff, he pulled up his sleeve and began drawing the necessary runes onto his arm – or at the very least, he tried to. Spells were more of Angela’s cup of tea. Only after he was certain that he had completed the necessary preparations did Jesse dare to undo the seven locks binding the creature’s cage. 

“Well?” he snapped, growing angrier by the second. In truth, he was beginning to doubt the logic behind his own plan. Freeing a demon, binding it to him… it was insanity. “C’mere before I change my mind.”

Silently, the oni pushed itself to its feet, lumbering closer to stand before him. Despite towering over him at seven feet tall, perhaps even eight, the creature allowed Jesse to place his palm over its eyes, blinding him. They took a deep breath together, then another –

“ _O malevolent darkness, release your hatred. These vows we exchange to become as one, united in purpose. Man and spirit._ ” …He resisted the urge to grumble. Why ancient spells always had to be so insufferably corny, Jesse would never know. “ _Forgive your grudges and return to the mortal plane, reborn, no longer trapped in the accursed shell of the wretch once known as Shimada Hanzo, but as the form that lies at the heart of your spirit’s memory_.”

It went on and on… an endless incantation. If he stuttered even once, the spell would fail, and yet, despite his lack of practice, it proceeded smoothly. In truth, Jesse hadn’t known what to expect; the demon he had bound to himself as a fresh recruit had only been a playful little pixie. It hadn’t taken much effort. This time, however… a part of him had anticipated pain. 

…But what had emerged from his palm instead, had been a blinding light, brighter than the sun. It engulfed the oni whole, dissolving the tendrils of dark magic which held its unnatural body together.

Jesse stepped back out of reflex alone, fearful of being caught in the blaze… only to discover that the light was unlike fire, entirely. It neither seared nor burned. Instead, it could be described as nothing less than a glimpse of an eternal summer, soft and warm, reminiscent of days of innocence. 

The scent of sunflowers and sorghum, the warmest of colors, filling his lungs. 

The light consumed everything, dissolving the monster’s horns and claws, its skin and bones… Finally, the demon… the demon turned _human_ , took a single step forward and fell into his arms. Jesse should have let him crash into the concrete, but for some reason, his body moved on its own, cradling the oni’s newly formed body as Jesse’s slowly knelt with him, letting him rest in his lap. The creature’s eyes, now a gentle shade of brown instead of ghastly white, fluttered closed, as he pressed his cheek against Jesse’s chest, seeking out the warmth of his body heat.

 

Despite everything, despite knowing what this “man” truly was, all that Jesse could think, at that very moment… was that Shimada Hanzo was beautiful.


	2. Chapter 2

I had always loved my grandfather

Though he recited the strangest tales, at times

Weaving pictures of princesses in peaches

And rabbits living on the moon

I always laughed them off as fiction

I clapped and I smiled

 

One story caught my attention, however

Above all the others

 

A tale of brother dragons

It was the same nonsense, as usual

I clapped and I smiled

 

But Grandfather placed his hands on my shoulders

And looked me in the eyes

And he said

 

When you grow up, remember, child

That you are not the sword

But the hand that wields it

 

I hadn’t given it a second thought

Until the day that my brother died

 

____________________________________

 

They shared a moment’s peace together - a precious, fragile respite. Catharsis, lily white. A blink in time, held in the cusp of fear and uncertainty, anger and hatred. 

For just a moment, McCree could almost forget that the creature in his arms was evil. It looked so delicate: just a tiny little thing, gasping for breath, shivering in the cold. Instinctively, before it could register within him that the man he held was no man at all, Jesse removed his serape, wrapping it around the monster’s trembling shoulders. Eager to discover more of this creature, he traced his fingertips over its skin, running them across the strange tattoo woven over its arm. Somehow, despite the binding spells that he had placed on its host, despite the powerful glamour that had hidden away the monster’s true form, that dragon tattoo held the distant whispers of spiritual power. 

The intrinsic memory of strength long abandoned. 

Jesse swallowed hard around the growing lump in his throat. Looking down at that little oni, cradled in his arms, he found himself overcome with the urge to stroke its cheek: to brush aside its hair and admire its sharp, noble features, carved in marble and porcelain. He couldn’t resist; his hand drew closer, just _millimeters_ from the oni’s face. ...But then the creature stirred. Instinctively, he flinched away, unwilling to disturb its rest, when it looked like it hadn't slept in ages.

“Genji…” it groaned, still struggling to keep its hold on reality. Strangely enough, even Hanzo’s voice had changed, turning clear and crisp, with none of the deep, bellowing tones of an oni’s growls. ...It was undeniably human. 

The mere sound of it took his breath away.

Who was this Genji, who could elicit such a tone of grief and longing in a creature that should have lacked emotions altogether? He couldn’t help but wonder. Oni were known to be solitary creatures, selfish and asocial, but could this “Shimada Hanzo” be an exception? Was there another oni roaming about somewhere? A friend, perhaps? A family member? 

A lover? 

He blushed at the thought of it: of a demon, rolling around in the bedsheets. It was a possibility, however; quite a few demons possessed sexual organs. Even if they served no reproductive purpose, they were still functional. 

Was it possible that Hanzo could have bonded with another demon? …Was there someone out there, missing him? Had Hanzo secretly been pining for this “Genji” for over two hundred years? That kind of loneliness… it sent a chill down Jesse’s spine.

“No, it’s… it’s not Genji. It’s me,” he clarified, cradling the demon’s face, patting gently at its cheek to bring it back into reality, “It’s _Jesse_ , the hunter. We’re in Gibraltar. In the dungeons. C’mon, you gotta wake up.” 

“J-Just… a little longer,” Hanzo requested, digging its hand into the fabric of Jesse’s shirt.

He sighed, glancing down at his watch to judge just how much time they had remaining before the arrival of the next guard shift. He was about to deny the monster’s request, to force it to stand and walk, when it whimpered slightly, tucking its knees against its chest in protest - such a childish gesture, reminiscent of Jesse’s own, abandoned youth. At that moment, though he knew of the oni’s inherent wickedness, any animosity that he had felt towards the creature melted away.

“Okay,” he relented, taking pity on the beast, “Just five minutes.” 

He took that time to unlock its shackles and collar, caked with old, dried blood. Whoever had initially chained the demon did an inexcusably poor job of it, tightening its restraints beyond the point of discomfort and pushing into the realm of torture. Gently, he picked up that tired, old creature and carried it into the bathroom. Though demons, even those that came from the ocean, could survive without water, Jesse knew that it must have been uncomfortable. The sirens and undines were always begging for it, after all. Though all ogres were more aligned with the elements of earth and lightning than anything else, he had no doubt in his mind that even a crusty, dried up oni like Hanzo could use a drink. He was just about to set it onto the floor and pour it a glass of water, when the demon jolted to life, clinging onto the edge of the sink.

“God, don’t do that to me!” he scolded, “Givin’ me a fuckin’ heart attack.”

If Hanzo noticed his distress, it didn’t deign to comment on it. Instead, it simply stared into the depths of the bathroom mirror, wide-eyed and unblinking. 

“The mirror… Bring me closer to the mirror. I am –” 

_What about it?_

Despite his skepticism, Jesse obeyed, letting the oni tap at the cracked, dirty surface of the bathroom mirror. The only reason that Overwatch had installed dungeon bathrooms in the first place was to check for injuries and wash off poison, if needed – but the demons in the lowest levels had been trapped for centuries. They were so well behaved that they didn’t even bother to fight any longer. 

Nobody had used or maintained those bathrooms in years. They were filthy, and yet Hanzo looked at that mirror with such reverence that it actually _frightened_ him. 

It was almost amusing, watching Hanzo slowly shift its attention to its new body, prodding at its skin and pulling down its lip, checking for its missing tusks.

Despite everything that Hanzo had done in its “lifetime,” if one could even claim that demons were alive at all, Jesse had to admit that, as a human, it was lovely. If he’d met Hanzo on the streets somewhere, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from making a move. 

Hanzo looked positively noble. So dignified, despite his obvious fear and confusion at the moment. Even his clothing suited him, as outdated as it was: traditional, Japanese robes, with a little silk ribbon tied into its hair. Just a subtle, feminine touch to a “man” whose arms were practically thicker than tree trunks, even after losing the muscle that it had possessed as an oni - though Jesse knew that it was only part of the glamour. It was just a mask. A disguise. Beneath it all, Hanzo was as ugly as ever. 

Even if given a hundred years to contemplate it, Jesse would never be able to guess the reason why the soul of such a horrific creature imagined itself not as a monster, clawed and horned, but as a man.

…A strange expression, one that Jesse could only describe as a deep and profound longing, fell over the demon’s features. It blinked back at its reflection and didn’t say another word. 

“Are you ready to go?” Jesse asked, finally, after giving Hanzo a minute to catch its breath – and to come to terms with whatever inner turmoil it was surely experiencing at the time. Not that Jesse thought to ask, when it hardly mattered how a demon felt. 

Hanzo was just a stupid monster, dumber than even a dog. At the very least, a dog could love. A dog could be loyal. Demons didn’t have feelings. That fact had been hammered into him for all of his life; he was certain that it was true, and yet… when he lowered Hanzo to the floor, the demon _clung_ to him, as though seeking the tenderness of human comfort. He wasn’t sure whether to pull the monster in or to push it away. 

“…Are you ready to go?” Jesse repeated, deciding on the latter.

Hanzo uncurled its fingers, then, releasing its hold on Jesse’s shirt. At first, Jesse could have almost sworn that it looked _disappointed_ , though its mournful expression slowly shifted back into the cold and distant neutrality that Hanzo had always worn, since the very first moment they’d laid eyes on each other. 

“Yes, Master,” it responded, before handing back his serape and stepping aside, waiting for Jesse to exit first. 

“Y-You don’t… have to call me that,” Jesse chuckled awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck, “I know that you’re my familiar and everything, but… you don’t have to follow the old rules. ‘Jesse’ is fine. My… My name’s Jesse.”

“I _prefer_ ‘Master,’” Hanzo retorted, tilting its head up just a centimeter, giving off a strangely superior appearance that set Jesse on edge, “It implies that there is no familiarity between the two of us. Our connection is through a spiritual oath and nothing more. Is it not?”

“Well, that’s true, but –”

“What objections do you have to it? ‘Master’ is the proper title - and I _enjoy_ abiding by traditional formalities. I do not feel close enough to you to address you by your first name, and so I shall refuse to do so.”

“Well, too bad, ‘cause ‘Master’ ain’t gonna work,” Jesse argued back, despite the fact that his heart was racing a mile a minute, terrified of arguing with a demon who seemingly knew no fear, “You go around callin’ me that, and everyone’ll think we’re freaks, or _lovers_ , or somethin’!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Look, it’s… it’s a human thing, okay? I ain’t gonna explain it; just trust me. Now, I don’t really care what you call me when we’re alone, but when we’re in public, for fuck’s sake, just call me Jesse. Can you do that?”

“Very well... _Master_.”

He groaned, running his hand down his face. Not even an hour into their partnership, and already, they were arguing. “Okay – well, while we’re at it, what do you want me to call you? I assume your true name’s out of the picture, so what do you want? Han? Oznah? You want a pseudonym or something?”

“Oh? A _pseudonym_? How fanciful. Do you intend to weave an entire false story surrounding my identity, now, Master? And here I was under the impression that our window of opportunity to escape from this prison was quickly closing. If we have time to dally about playing pretend, then perhaps you would permit me a moment to meditate. I have not had the opportunity to cleanse my mind for many a century, now.”

It took every ounce of discipline in him to stop himself from escalating their argument. He was fighting against a demon, after all: a creature that never apologized and never admitted its faults. There was no point in pushing the subject.

“ _Fine_. I get your point. …You don’t have to get all sarcastic about it.”

Taking Hanzo by the hand, he dragged the creature up the very first staircase leading up to the watchpoint proper… and then up the second, and the third, and the fourth. By the seventh, however, both he and Hanzo had slowed to a snail’s pace, clearly suffering.

“Why can we not use the elevator?” The oni complained, baring its teeth – likely forgetting that such an action looked more stupid than intimidating, now that it had lost its fangs.

“’Cause those elevators are new, and they have cameras,” Jesse explained between ragged gasps, “Athena’s always monitoring them. But the old cameras in the hallways haven’t been updated for an eternity. They aren’t synced to her systems yet, so if anyone wants to look at the footage, an actual person has to sit down and do it. We’ll have a better chance of going unnoticed if we take the stairs.”

He thought that his explanation had been clear enough, and yet Hanzo only glared at him, its eyes, narrowing in confusion.

“What is a camera?” 

“…You’re kiddin’ me.” It was at that moment when Jesse remembered that Hanzo hadn’t seen the light of day for over two hundred years. No electricity, no telephones, no cars – everything would be a mystery to this oni. He likely thought that there were people running that elevator, pulling it up through manpower, alone. For better or for worse, Hanzo would likely be more dependent on him than he had presumed. 

“It’s… I’ll explain later. Now, come on.”

Jesse grabbed onto his companion’s arm and _tugged_ , but the oni just wouldn’t budge.

“No. This is ridiculous. Your explanation does not make sense; you are making excuses for whatever reason that I cannot comprehend. I am _tired_ , and I insist upon using the elevator, unless you are able to explain to me just why they are so terrible.”

“Well, too damn bad! I don’t got time to give you a little school lesson. We’re takin’ the stairs. C’mon, it’s only two more flights. Suck it up and let’s go.”

“I said: _I am tired_. This human form is so frail. I cannot climb any farther,” Hanzo insisted, crossing its arms and leaning against the railing, “Why are you so afraid of these ‘cameras?’ If you loosen my binding spells, I am certain that I can repel them. I can –”

“Okay, okay, fine! I’ll carry you the rest of the way up, alright? Okay?!”

“…That would be acceptable.”

Despite his own exhaustion, Jesse somehow managed to hold back his anger as he scooped the oni up into his arms and resumed the arduous task of hauling the two of them back up the stairs. 

“Stupid demon…” 

His legs felt like jelly.

Though he’d been forced to take detours and side routes, though he was sweating and panting, he somehow managed to smuggle Hanzo all the way to the garage without once being noticed. After selecting his vehicle, Jesse shoved Hanzo into the passenger seat and buckled it in, even as the oni struggled against the seatbelt, trying in vain to find a way to remove it.

“I’ll take it off later, alright? Just calm down.” He slammed the door shut and took a moment to catch his breath. Though they had so far managed to navigate through the base unnoticed, once Jesse stuck his key into the ignition, that would be it; the vehicles were all tied to Athena’s systems. She would be alerted to a car being started, she would pass that information onto Winston, and soon enough, everyone in the watchpoint would realize that Jesse was gone.

Even worse, the dungeon guards would report Hanzo missing, soon after that. Jesse gone AWOL, after taking a car and a Japanese demon: any member of Overwatch with half a brain would be able to conclude that he was chasing after Jack. 

…They would have to work quickly if they wanted to escape. 

Jesse quickly got into the driver’s seat and programmed the directions to the airport into his cellphone. 

“Okay, Longhorn – you ready?” 

“…Longhorn?”

“Well, I don’t know what else to call you, ‘cause _somebody_ didn’t want to decide earlier."

“Well, _come up with something else_ ,” Hanzo commanded, while being of no help whatsoever. Strangely enough, despite his seemingly bad mood, the demon couldn’t sit still, pawing at the dials and poking at the buttons, “…What are we doing here? I thought that we were in a hurry to leave this military compound. Why are we sitting in these chairs?”

“Look... do you know what a carriage is?”

“I have heard of them, though I have never seen one in person. Wheeled vehicles were banned in my country when I was young – as were other western influences.”

 _When Hanzo was young_ … 

Jesse could hardly imagine such a thing: a little, grey-skinned child with horns and tusks, running about sowing chaos. 

“This is a carriage, basically – only it goes a lot faster than the ones you probably knew about when you were a kid. It runs on its own, basically. You don’t need horses or oxen.”

“I never imagined that I would ever be able to ride in a carriage. I must admit that I am actually rather… _excited_.”

With an expression full of innocent wonder, Hanzo grabbed at the gearstick and turned to him with a smile, brighter than the sun. In another world, in another life, if they were anyone but the people they actually were, perhaps Jesse would have Hanzo’s naivety endearing. 

“If you think this is excitin’, you’re gonna be in for a treat when we get to the airport.”

Taking a deep, steady breath, knowing that there was no turning back, Jesse pulled out his keys and started the ignition. The car roared to life, The Eagles blasted from the speakers... and despite his previous enthusiasm, Hanzo looked _terrified_. 

“Where are those voices coming from? I hear voices…”

“It’s called a radio, Longhorn,” Jesse answered, unable to suppress his laughter, before slamming on the gas and speeding out of the garage. 

Considering his rotten luck, Jesse had half expected the car to stall, or for Tracer to blink out of nowhere, or for the garage door to slam shut just as they were about to cross through the threshold – but luck was on their side, for once.

Just like that, man and demon raced off to freedom.

Despite the cheerful, afternoon sun shining down on them through the windshield, Jesse knew that they weren’t out of the woods quite yet. Until they were on the plane to Japan, there was still a chance that the others could stop him. Surely, Athena would have alerted Winston, by now. If they caught up to them, Jesse would be stuck with cleaning duty for a year, at best, and would be turned over to the global authorities to spend the rest of his life in prison, at worst. 

And Hanzo? 

They’d do to him what they did to the vampires that terrorized London in the 1700s. They’d lock him up in an adamantium coffin and seal him in concrete. An eternity underground, trapped in a box, unable to move, with nobody to hear his screams, nobody to talk to him, even if it was only to bark out orders. 

All alone, in the dark, until the end of time. …Even Jesse knew that was cruel.

For a moment, crippled by fear, he actually considered turning the car around and surrendering with his arms raised, sky high. With growing concern, he turned to glance at his companion and voice his concerns… but when he saw him looking out the window, any doubts that Jesse had vanished into the crisp, spring air. 

Hanzo leaned his head against the glass, as he stared out at the trees, and the road, and that bright blue sky. Jesse looked down at the oni’s fingers, instinctively tapping out the rhythm to a song he’d never heard. 

 

_Desperado, oh, you ain't gettin' no younger_

_Your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you home -_

 

“…You want me to open the window?” he found himself asking, before his better judgement could catch up with him. 

“But we are moving so quickly,” Hanzo answered with disbelief, “What if I fall out of the carriage?”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Wait. Master, _no_!” Shrinking into himself, the demon-turned-human clung to the cupholders, as Jesse rolled down the passenger window. 

“C’mon, open your eyes,” Jesse laughed, nudging him gently, “You’re safe. I buckled you into the seat.”

“Close that forsaken window!” Hanzo hissed.

“Well, what I hold your hand so you don’t fly off? …Does that sound okay? I know I’m just a human, but I got a pretty strong grip.”

Daring to glance at his companion before turning his eyes back to the road, Jesse extended his arm towards him, smiling when he felt Hanzo’s smaller hand nestle into his own. Slowly but surely, the oni opened his eyes and dared to look out the window. 

His long hair, tied back in its ribbon, fluttered gently in the warm, spring breeze. 

Holding hands, lost in the excitement of new adventure, they sped down country roads together. Jesse couldn’t help but give the oni’s hand a little squeeze. It was soft and warm – everything that he would expect from a human. For a moment, he felt less like a fugitive, less like a soldier, and more like… an ordinary man. A _happy_ man.

His mind began drifting off, then: imagining what Hanzo would have been like as a human. What he would have done with his life. Perhaps they could have been friends. Hanzo seemed rather docile, after all, for a creature condemned to exist as the manifestation of evil itself. He seemed like the scholarly type. He would have done well as a professor, Jesse considered, or perhaps some kind of engineer. He could have imagined a thousand different lifetimes for the demon beside him – if Hanzo’s voice hadn’t shaken him, ever so gently, from his reverie. 

“This world has changed during my absence,” he remarked with a subtle smile. 

“Yeah,” Jesse answered, “I guess it has.”

“…Though I presume that humans have remained quite the same.”

“I don’t think so. We’ve made a lot of progress,” he argued, with a strange desire to defend mankind’s achievements, “We’ve gotten rid of diseases that probably hit people from your time pretty hard. We have a lot more than horseless carriages, too; we have trains and airplanes – flyin’ machines. We’ve come a long way.”

“You have certainly developed peculiar tools; that cannot be denied,” Hanzo remarked, resting his arm against the window, “But has humanity changed in terms of spirit?”

Jesse only laughed, then, glancing over at his companion with a teasing smile, “I don’t think that’s so easy to judge.”

“Oh, but it is. Pray tell, have you ever heard of the Tower of Babel?”

“Yeah, it’s a Christian thing. I’m sure I heard about it in church a couple times when I was a kid - but it ain’t like I really remember the details.”

“Thousands of years ago, in a time when heaven and earth still bore a connection to one another, mankind was united in language and purpose. In their hubris, thinking themselves equal to God, mankind built a grand ziggurat, a pinnacle of human innovation, so that they, too, could reach Heaven and meet their creator. Angered by their arrogance, God cast them down to earth and sundered their tongues, separating them into the cultures and tribes that you see today. Losing their unity, mankind fell to darkness and became a shadow of a once-great civilization.”

“That’s just a story, though. I don’t know what you’re getting at. I mean, that didn’t actually happen, did it?”

“I do not know. The story was passed to me by a travelling demon from the west, many years ago. But whether the story is true or false, the message remains applicable. Does it not? Motivated by pride and avarice, man prioritizes his own selfish needs above all else, going so far as to tread upon the divine realm in the name of personal achievement. Sacrificing righteousness and honor for power and pride… only to fall lower than he ever has before. In the two-hundred years that I had walked this earth prior to my imprisonment, I had yet to witness man defy the part of his nature that was most base. Pray tell, Master, I am curious: has mankind changed, since the fall of Babel?”

…

…Unable to answer, Jesse held his tongue, allowing Hanzo to interpret his silence as he would.


	3. Chapter 3

Darkness clouds my vision

 

Yet when I next awaken

The stars shine above me

 

The wind in my hair

I breathe in deep the scent of summer

 

And follow humming cicadas 

To the edge of the river

 

I chase after fireflies

My eyes turning skyward

 

Enraptured by beauty

Enthralled by their light

 

Deeper and deeper

I wade through the waters

 

But when I catch a glimpse of the water’s surface

The noose tightens

 

Darkness clouds my vision

 

__________________________________________

 

“Master,” he muttered quietly, shaking the human’s shoulder as he slumbered. The human’s little hat, pulled over his face, shielded him from the chaos of the waking world.

“Huh?” he startled, “Wh-What’s goin’ on? Are we there yet?” 

“No, Master. No, I was merely…” 

Afraid. 

Loath as he was to admit it, Hanzo was _afraid_. Afraid of change and unfamiliarity. Looking out the window of their flying machine’s isolated “first class cabin,” he lost himself in a sea of clouds, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Every jerk and whine of the metal tube which encased them filled his thoughts with picture and sound: the great machine plummeting from the sky, faster and faster, tumbling down in the murky depths below.

His throat constricted. 

What was he thinking, turning to a human for comfort? What was this “McCree-san” going to do in the event that they fell from the very sky itself? The man beside him could hardly cast a spell on his own. He would be of no help whatsoever, unable even to keep Hanzo company during his winding trek across the bottom of the ocean, back to dry land.

…If the ocean even _had_ a bottom. For all he knew, he could sink forever. 

“Nothing. I apologize for disturbing your slumber.” 

He tried his hardest to suppress his curiosity, refusing to look outside any longer. As though sensing his discomfort, however, the human reached over to Hanzo’s hip to tighten his seatbelt - as if that flimsy piece of cloth could ever protect him from crashing into the waters below. 

Though it was nothing more than a pointless gesture by a weak and feeble human, however, the action and the intent behind it managed to soothe him regardless, bringing him comfort. 

“No, no, it’s fine,” his master replied, “Sorry if my snorin’ bothered you.” 

McCree poured himself another cup of the bubbling drink called “root beer” before settling back into his seat, “Say, you want to try some? I mean, since your magic is bound, maybe you’ll be able to drink it. Who knows.”

It couldn’t hurt. 

Taking the cup from his companion, Hanzo took a little sip… and felt the distinctive sting of liquid subliming into ash on the tip of his tongue within seconds. Coughing into his fist, he scraped the powder away.

“Damn,” McCree remarked, glancing over his shoulder at the grey residue left on his fingers, “I always heard that somehin’ like that would happen if a demon tried to eat or drink anything, but I never actually believed it.”

“…What other reason would we have for hunting humans?” Hanzo growled, low and intimidating, even if he didn’t intend for it to be perceived as such.

A strange expression flitted over the hunter’s features, trapped between anger, offense, and… disbelief. The human glanced out over the aisle, then, at the other travelers: all slumbering away or plugging their ears with the little ropes connected to their glowing, communication slabs. When next his master spoke, it was with unshakable resolve, never once breaking eye contact, even if his voice never rose above a whisper.

“About that, I’ve been meanin’ to ask you somethin’. There’s a book in the basement, that talks about how you ended up in Overwatch in the first place. Well, I want to know: is it true what they say about you? Did you really destroy that village? …Did you really eat those people?”

He knew that the question would come up eventually. It was only human nature to pry into the affairs of others. 

“Why do you sound so surprised? I have never attempted to hide or deny it.” 

For some reason that Hanzo couldn’t comprehend, at that moment, McCree actually looked… _disappointed_. Disappointed in _him_. 

“I bore no grudge against the villagers,” he continued, not entirely shameless, but… accepting of his own reality, “But the hunger that a demon faces is… something beyond the point of physical starvation. It is a vast emptiness. A deep and mournful longing. A feeling of vast inadequacy and a knowledge that at your core, you are incomplete. A mortal could never understand the need to hunt. On the day that I attacked Koga-mura, I told myself that evening, just as I did all the others, that I would hunt only on a single individual.”

“Did you? Well, that’s funny, since over _seventy people_ died,” McCree hissed, so angered on the behalf of long-dead strangers. It was endearing, in a way. 

“I am aware of that fact. Despite my intentions, once I had tasted flesh and bone marrow, I… could not stop myself. I wanted more.”

He glanced down at McCree’s hands, gripped onto the armrests - his knuckles turning white from the exertion. 

“You’re not even sorry, are you?”

“Not particularly. No.” 

Suddenly, without a moment’s warning, McCree threw a punch at him – though he managed to catch it just moments before it could _crack_ against his jaw. McCree’s hand trembled, as Hanzo tightened his grip.

“Would you rather I lied?” he asked, tilting his head with sincere curiosity. 

“…No.”

“While I do not regret my actions that day, I am aware of the fact that they were wicked. I am not a good man, nor am I a moral one. What has become of me is no less than I deserve.”

“So you don’t regret anything. Nothing at all.”

“I regret _many_ of the events that have transpired over the course of my life,” he clarified, “But I do not believe that I am under any obligation to divulge that information to _you_. Am I, Master?” 

“I could just force it out of you…” the human hissed. Both of them knew full well the power that McCree held over him, now that he had bound Hanzo’s spirit as his familiar: the ability to torture and punish him with nothing more than a spell. 

Despite that knowledge, Hanzo ignored the threat, daring to turn away as he slowly closed the window, enveloping the cabin in darkness. 

“You could,” he answered as calmly as ever, “Though any information that you uncover, then, would be completely devoid of meaning, would it not?”

McCree didn’t bother to respond – only rubbing at his knuckles, bruised by Hanzo’s surprisingly powerful grip. Even with numerous binding spells placed upon him, Hanzo still possessed the lingering traces of a demon’s strength, even if it exhausted him to use it. Losing his ties to the spirit world left him constantly tired. Every breath, an arduous struggle, as though bricks weighed down upon his chest.

“Go back to sleep, Master,” he recommended, cruel and mocking, “I shall wake you upon your landing.”

__________________________________________

Exhausted by his journey, Jesse rubbed the sleep from his eyes, barely capable of keeping them open, even as the train jostled him from side to side. At the very least, on a sunny workday in the late afternoon, their train car was mostly empty. Drifting in and out of consciousness, he leaned against the oni’s belly for support and closed his eyes for just a moment… until Hanzo shoved him away with a disgusted growl. 

Whimpering quietly, Jesse scratched at his greasy, matted hair. He always was a mess after long flights, though somehow, Hanzo looked as pristine as ever, standing tall, perfectly balanced, without even holding onto the handrail. 

…Stupid demon.

“Hey, Longhorn?” he began, already yawning, “I know it’s the middle of the day and all, but I could really use a nap. What do you say we find a hotel in the city somewhere and rest for a while? I won’t be of any use to Jack like this.”

Considering his words for a moment, Hanzo finally gave him a curt nod, before returning his gaze back to the window: to the blur of signs and tunnel lights, passing them by.

“May I make a request, McCree-san?” Hanzo asked him, suddenly, startling him awake. 

“You can _make_ it; ain’t gonna promise I’ll _fulfill_ it.”

“Fair enough,” the demon straightened his back, looking less like a bound familiar and more like a resident deity, proud and dignified, “Instead of lingering in this city, I would like to spend the night in a village north of here. Hanamura.”

“You do know that Aokigahara is _west_ of here – right? If we visit this ‘Hanamura’ place, we’ll be goin’ way off course. Why the hell do you want to go out to the middle of nowhere?”

Jesse narrowed his eyes, trying in vain to discern just what kind of trouble the demon was planning. Was he plotting to break free of his binding spells, somehow? Did he know a demon from that area who would be willing to help him?

“…I cannot say.”

“Then no,” Jesse spat, “I ain’t takin’ you out there if you can’t even tell me why. No. We’re stayin’ in Tokyo.”

Hanzo actually seemed distressed, for once. 

His posture stiffened. He tightened his jaw and ground his molars together, hard enough that Jesse could have sworn he’d heard them _crack_. They were trapped at an impasse: neither man nor demon, wishing to accommodate the other. Only when Hanzo realized this did he finally release an exasperated sigh, giving in to Jesse’s demands.

“Hanamura was my home, for a time,” he confessed at last, glaring down at Jesse with clear disapproval, for having been forced to provide such sensitive information in the first place, “I was born and raised within its borders. The urns of my ancestors are kept within the family crypt, though my brother’s shrine rests in the garden. I would like to visit this shrine, if I could… or, rather, I would like to visit what remains of it.”

“…You have a _brother_?” 

“Had. Many centuries ago. …Before I moved to the mountains, I would visit his shrine every year on the anniversary of his death. I have not had the opportunity to do so for many years, now.” 

The color drained from Jesse’s face. A sharp ringing pierced through his eardrums. He could feel his very heartbeat lurching up his throat, mixing with acid and rancid bile. It came to him, then, in a moment of startling clarity. 

A burial ground. A family. A brother. 

A dead… brother.

“…Were you human?”

Hanzo didn’t respond. He only looked down at him with such overpowering bitterness that Jesse couldn’t help but shrink down into his seat.

“I presume that you are satisfied with the information that I have provided,” the oni remarked, cold and cutting, ignoring his question, “I ask once more: will you permit me to return to Hanamura?”

“ _Just answer the question_. Were you human? I always thought that demons just… _existed_. But were you… _Are_ you -” 

“If you allow me to pray at my brother’s grave, then I will tell you everything that you wish to know before you retire for the evening. Are we in agreement, Master?”

His mouth went dry, silver tongue, turned to lead. A thousand questions raced through his mind, and yet he couldn’t bring form to a single one. He had forgotten how to speak. How to think, how to _breathe_ , crushed by the weight of Hanzo’s contempt for him.

“Yeah… okay. We’ll… We’ll stay in Hanamura. We can start lookin’ for Jack tomorrow morning.” 

“…A wise decision.” 

Still struggling to remain calm, Jesse programmed the directions to Hanamura into the little prepaid phone that he’d bought at the airport. With his old phone, integrated with Overwatch’s signals, he couldn’t risk turning it on, even for a moment. 

“Say, Longhorn,” he began after a long period of tentative peace, where he had slowly managed to connect the dots, “About your brother: was his name… _Genji_?”

 _The glass shattered_.

Hanzo’s eyes went wide – sharp and piercing, cutting him down to the bone. He could practically feel the oni’s malice radiating off of him in waves.

“…What did you say?”

“I-It’s just that… when you dazed earlier, in Gibraltar, you called that name. _Genji_. I spent God knows how long tryin’ to figure out who that was. I know it doesn’t really matter at this point, but… you looked so _sad_ that I –”

“Do not speak his name. It is not yours to say.”

Despite popular belief, demons really _could_ cry; they did so often, in the depths of Overwatch’s dungeons. Though some basic part of human empathy had always resonated in him, telling him that those demons were scared and miserable, the logical part of him had always explained their grief away as crocodile tears, meant to deceive hunters into lowering their guards. 

…But at that moment, with Hanzo, just barely holding the pieces together, Jesse couldn’t help but reconsider. 

“Okay,” he agreed, “Okay, I understand. …But you know, for what it’s worth, I… I’m sorry to hear about your brother. It must’ve been hard. I remember how it felt when my sister died, and -”

“You do not understand _anything_ ,” the oni snapped, his voice, booming – and drawing the attention of everyone else in the train car. His muscles tensed, pulled taut in anger. 

Jesse would have to choose his words carefully from then on, even if it was unlikely the old-timers sitting near them spoke any English at all.

“You’re right,” Jesse agreed, his voice, cracking, so afraid of Hanzo’s suffering, “Maybe I _don’t_ understand – but I want to. I can try, if you’d let me. If that’s somethin’ you’d want. I know I don’t look the part, but my friends always tell me I’m a pretty good listener. If you need someone to talk to, I’m… I’m here. And I can go with you to your brother’s shrine, if you don’t want to be alone.”

Hanzo only sighed, staring out into the darkness of the tunnel, as they sped off towards their next destination. He couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking at that moment: his history, his family… his place in this world. What was it that made somebody human? If it was only a simple body that defined their personhood, then by all means, Hanzo was as far from human as could be. But if it was a heart and soul, if it was thought and emotion, then… 

“Perhaps that would be for the best,” Hanzo remarked, suddenly, startling Jesse out of his reverie, “Genji would wish to see that I have been making progress.”

“What kind of progress?” Jesse asked, eager for more.

“My brother was always the more… moral of the two of us. Overwatch was developed with the best of humanity’s intentions – and I am certain that your ‘Morrison-san’ is an honorable man. My brother would be relieved to know that I am serving such a noble cause as yours, even if only for a short period of time.”

“You mean instead of lumberin’ around doin’ what you used to do?” 

Hunting people. _Eating_ them. Men, women, and children. Nobody from that village was spared – and Jesse wasn’t naïve enough to believe that Hanzo hadn’t gone on similar rampages in the past. He’d had a bounty on his head, when he was captured, after all. Land and wealth for anyone who could present the oni’s horns to the Japanese emperor. 

“Of course. I am capable of sowing great misfortune. …My brother would have hated the wretch that I have become.”

Though his very first instinct was to comfort him, to assure him that Genji would have loved him regardless, Jesse held his tongue. He knew next to nothing about the Shimada brothers, after all. Hanzo was right; he didn’t understand. 

And his companion didn’t seem the type to appreciate petty platitudes.

__________________________________________

Hanamura was so small, so politically insignificant, that the rail system didn’t even connect to the village. 

They’d stopped somewhere nearby and had been forced to take a taxi. Jesse had relied on Hanzo to communicate, though the young cabbie only laughed with an amused little grin. Language was constantly changing; even Hanzo seemed to have difficulty communicating, and Japanese was his mother tongue. 

He just didn’t understand the modern slang, the casual grammar, the slurred words…

His old-fashioned mannerisms and traditional clothing made him stand out just as much as Jesse. It almost seemed as though they were destined to make a scene no matter where they went. 

Even now, standing beside the entrance of a ramen shop, Hanzo was a beautiful sight, picturesque, looking up at the neon sign with calm and quiet melancholy. His face, cradled by the gentle, glowing light. 

“When I was a boy, this area was dominated by fields and rice paddies,” Hanzo began, never taking his eyes off of the sign. His smile, soft and comely, was just as amused as it was somber. “The farmers would take their harvest and bring it into the village proper, where it would be ground and cooked into noodles or mochi. There was one old woman, in particular, who made the most delectable daifuku, perfectly sweet. How the world has changed… I cannot even recognize my home any longer.”

Before he even knew what he was doing, Jesse had reached for Hanzo’s shoulder, giving it a tender squeeze. Daring to reach for more, he stroked his thumb over the oni’s bare skin, rubbing gentle circles beneath his collarbone. 

Hanzo been human once: that much was clear, now. Though quiet uncertainty plagued his mind, for some strange reason that he couldn’t understand, Jesse was able to bury down those doubts, if only for his companion’s sake. He wanted to be strong for him; he wanted to be his pillar of support. The one, organic constant in a world where everything was cold, and chrome, and alien. 

“I went home to Santa Fe a while back,” Jesse began, his heart, racing. Time itself seemed to slow around the two of them, standing together in the backdrop of the cherry blossoms, fluttering down, “Used to be, you could sit out there on the cliffs at night and stare out into a sea of stars. Thousands of ‘em over the desert. But a while back, they built a shoppin’ mall in the town, which brought in money and people. Which means bars and restaurants, new places to see. Nowadays, the city’s so bright and blindin’, you can barely even see the moon at night. That much change in only twenty years; I can’t imagine what it’s like, bein’ out of the picture for two- _hundred_. If you need a minute, that’s okay. We can sit down for a while. Take a breather.”

Hanzo smiled back at him, over his shoulder - looking like he’d stepped right out of the history books. “If we are going to rest for the time being, then could you purchase daifuku on my behalf, Master? Even if I cannot eat it, I… I would like to hold it for a moment.”

Such a sentimental request, like something straight out of a sonnet. The oni’s behavior and old-fashioned mannerisms baffled him, at times, though a part of Jesse couldn’t help but find it charming. Rustic, in a way.

“Sure thing,” he agreed, releasing Hanzo’s shoulder with more reluctance than he’d anticipated, “You’re gonna have to tell me where to look for one, though. I don’t really know what a ‘daifuku’ is.”

“Have you never experienced the pleasure of sampling daifuku, Master?” Hanzo practically _gasped_ , reminiscent of an old, southern belle, shocked and appalled by the unorthodox. “Such a pitiful life you must lead. How unfulfilling! After I am finished holding my daifuku, I will gift it to you. I am certain that you will enjoy it.”

They walked around the square for a moment, before stumbling upon a little food stall, selling what looked like, frankly, the most unappealing food that Jesse had ever encountered in his entire life. Little colorful lumps of… _something_. Something squishy, scentless, and covered in a fine, white powder.  
Despite the fact that he didn’t even know what they were selling, Jesse purchased a six pack, regardless, at Hanzo’s insistence. 

“Here, Longhorn,” he offered, placing one of the little lumps in Hanzo’s hands. Immediately, the demon removed it from its pastry paper, choosing instead to cradle the thing in his palm, stroking his finger over it as though it were a living, breathing creature. 

“…Despite the endless flow of time, some things remain the same,” he remarked, waxing nostalgic.

Jesse hovered over the oni’s shoulder, unable to understand just what was so special about some dumpling – not that he would ever admit as much. It was special to _Hanzo_. That was all that mattered. He wasn’t about to belittle what was likely the highlight of his companion’s past two hundred years of life.

“Nothing compares to the taste and texture of freshly made daifuku. Here, Master – you should eat it while the mochi is still warm.”

Despite his uncertainty, Jesse took the dumpling regardless, biting down into it, expecting the worst. Instead, a little burst of sweetness, fresh and delicately floral, wafted over his senses; the bun was soft and chewy, with a smooth and earthy center. 

He chewed slowly, savoring it – and trying desperately to stall for time as he thought of come creative way to describe the flavor to his companion, eager to impress Hanzo with his eloquence. Though _why_ the oni’s opinion of him mattered in the slightest, Jesse didn’t know. _It just did_. He just wanted Hanzo to approve of him. 

“It’s… a bit different from what I’m used to,” Jesse explained, “But it’s got a nice scent to it. A lot of foods are kind of pretentious, nowadays. Everything’s got foam in it, plus fifty other things, but this is… simple. Kind of like comfort food. …It’s nice. I can see why you used to like it.”

“I still do,” Hanzo replied, smiling fondly – though whether that smile was directed at him or the dumpling, Jesse couldn’t quite tell, “I can smell the azuki from here. That scent brings back such fond memories.”

“Yeah? Like what?” Jesse asked, finding himself eager to learn all that he could about Hanzo’s humanity.

Eager to discover what similarities lay between them. 

“I was my father’s eldest son: the heir to a grand household and to an ancient legacy. Do you see that castle in the distance, Master? It belonged to my family, the Shimada-gumi.”

“Seriously?” he chuckled, unable to repress the sincerity of his amusement, “I guess that’s why the place is called ‘Shimada Castle’ on the map.” 

“Indeed so. We were a powerful clan. As such, it was expected of me to mature rather quickly. I had little time for games or childish pleasures, even as a boy. I remember that one year, during the cherry blossom festival, I had pestered my father to purchase daifuku on my behalf – though he insisted that grown men had no need for sweets. That daifuku, and toys, and dango belonged in the realm of women and children. He purchased a single daifuku for my brother and went on ahead, never once glancing back, knowing very well that we would follow.”

“That… doesn’t sound too much like a happy memory to me.”

“Ah, but you did not allow me to finish. When my father turned his back to us, my brother tore his daifuku in two and handed one of the halves to me. He was always so selfless.”

“He sounds like a good brother,” Jesse remarked, as they made their way towards the imposing, Japanese castle, towering in the distance. The cherry blossoms drifted down, catching in the demon’s hair. He gave into the urge and plucked one from the tangle of his ponytail.

“…He was.”

When they arrived at the castle gate, they were stopped by a guard, of all things: one who muttered at him in rapid-fire Japanese - and then one who _argued_ , when Hanzo replied just as quickly, growing frantic. The oni’s expression twisted into a flurry of emotion: shock, confusion, _anger_ , then… a cold and quiet acceptance. 

“Wh-What’s goin’ on?”

“This man is stating that Shimada Castle has been remodeled into something called a… ‘historical site.’ They are allowing through the gate anybody who can afford to pay a simple tax, Master. _Anybody_. If anybody has desecrated my brother’s shrine, I will -”

“A historical site means that people are protecting this place. I’m… I’m sure your brother’s grave is fine.” At the very least, he prayed that it was. Jesse quickly handed over the money for two standard tickets – without the “premium” addition of a meddling tour guide – and quickly followed after Hanzo as he stormed inside. The oni pushed his way through the crowd, forcing them to part as he made his way towards the garden. Towards a humble little shrine of sandalwood and simple stone, with faded paint on the splintering door. 

A chain barrier and metal sign, written in Japanese, closed it off from the rest of the world. 

“Is this it?” he asked, tentatively making his approach. Hanzo’s silence, his stillness, frightened him; he had seemed so passionate prior to their arrival there. For his mood to have changed so quickly, surely something was amiss. Something terrible.

“I built my brother’s shrine in this location, but… it was smaller than this,” Hanzo explained, “ _Much_ smaller: just a roof and a stand for his katana. I fully intended to remake, but I… I never had the opportunity to do so.”

“Maybe someone else did. Someone in your family, maybe.”

Hanzo scoffed, then, with such vitriol that he feared the man would sprout horns all over again, right then and there, in front of the entire world. 

“ _None_ of the elders mourned his death. Not a single one.” Hanzo crossed his arms, then, deep in thought, “…Perhaps it was my cousin. The title of heir would have fallen to him… considering the circumstances. He was always somewhat fond of Genji. They were close in age.”

“Well, if it was your cousin, he did a pretty good job. The woodwork’s solid.” Luckily for them, that isolated little corner of the garden was deemed too uninteresting to appeal to the general public, who amused themselves instead, with the castle proper. With careful respect, Jesse ducked beneath the chain barrier and cracked open the door.

The interior of the shrine was just as humble as its structure: a sword and a tray for incense, as well as a little wooden block for offerings. 

“I don’t think the guards want us in here,” Jesse began, letting the door swing back into place. His first instinct was to avoid stirring up trouble with the local authorities, in the end, when they had already come far, Jesse couldn’t bring himself to deny Hanzo’s request. “We’ll be in trouble if we’re caught, so… I don’t think I’m gonna be able to pray with you. It’d be a better idea if I waited outside the door to keep guard. Would that be okay?”

With a grateful smile, Hanzo offered him a curt bow, before taking the little box of daifuku and placing his hand upon the door. The moment he touched it, however, he froze like a statue, dropping the pastries onto the ground. The oni’s eyes went wide in fear and _horror_.

“Hey, what’s wrong?!” Jesse asked, shaking him. …His skin had gone cold, covered in goosebumps. 

Hanzo stared at that door as though it were a portal to hell itself. 

“…Somebody has placed a powerful blessing upon this shrine. A prayer, inscribed on every stone - one that has endured through the centuries. Evil cannot cross this threshold. _I_ cannot cross.”

“Are you sure?” Jesse argued, “I don’t feel anything.”

“Though you have learned to cast spells, Master, you, yourself, are not a magical being. Regardless of how you train your mind and body, only magic can detect magic. There is a barrier here; I am certain of it. If I step into the shrine, I will –” He shook his head, stepping away from the entrance of the shrine. “I am uncertain of the fate that will befall me. All that I know is that I will not remain the same as I am now. …I cannot enter.”

“Well, what if I go instead?” he offered, putting on his bravest smile, as he knelt to gather up the fallen box of daifuku. To their credit, the little dumplings were hardier than they looked; not a single one had bruised on impact. “I’ll light incense for your brother. I’ll offer up the daifuku and pray for him. You just tell me the message you wanted to give, and I’ll pass it along.”

At that moment, though man and oni didn’t say a single word, both could sense that a fragile, heartfelt bond had formed between them. A single strand of silk, white as winter’s first snow. A deep, intrinsic understanding of each other, beyond the barriers of life and death, good and evil. 

“He should know that I am burdened, still, by the sin that I carry - and rightfully so. This weight is mine to bear. Mine to regret. …I wish to impart my pain and my sorrow. Though above all else, Master,” he continued, letting his eyes fall closed, “I wish for my brother to know, if only for a fleeting moment, the sincerity of my love for him.”

Love. Regret. Sorrow. 

All of the emotions that he’d once thought beyond a demon like him. Jesse stared back at the oni, stunned to silence. All he could do was nod and turn back towards the shrine. Before he could open the door, however, Hanzo’s hand latched onto his wrist, gripping tightly – not hard enough to bruise, but enough for him to feel the way he trembled. 

To make his fear and desperation known… as well as his gratitude.

“…Thank you.”


	4. Chapter 4

Demons never slept.

It was part of the reason why they made such peerless hunters. Chasing after prey in the darkness - _tirelessly_. Night after night, if need be. A war of attrition, if, for whatever reason, they weren’t able to make the kill, outright. 

Demons could run, and fight, and _chase_ for an eternity – especially one as big as Hanzo, built like a tank and just as lethal. 

…So why, then, did the oni look so weary?

Jesse watched him from afar, behind the glass sliding door of the little bed and breakfast.

Standing in the garden, Hanzo looked so fragile, dressed in his flowing, black yukata. Without a single word, his oni stared listlessly at the full moon, shining down on him all the same regardless of the fact that he had lost his humanity altogether. Unable to suppress his curiosity, Jesse slid the door open and followed him out, trailing after him as Hanzo walked off towards the koi pond. 

Taking a seat on the cold, stone bench, like a child, his oni kicked off his little wooden sandals and dipped his feet into the water.

“Do you wish something of me, Master?” the oni asked out of nowhere, startling him half to death.

“No, I just wanted to see how you were doin’,” Jesse retorted, masking his fear behind an awkward smile, “You looked pretty upset earlier when we leavin’ Shimada Castle. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I am alright, though I appreciate your concern.” 

Stretching, Jesse sat down beside him, tearing open a packet of fish food that he’d taken from the front counter. He poured out a little handful and tossed it into the water by Hanzo’s feet. Within seconds, the fish swarmed around him, twisting and writhing; they splashed, and they struggled, and for just a split-second, his oni, a veritable walking calamity, actually _panicked_ over a few, harmless koi. Letting out a little shriek, he tugged his feet out of the water and tucked his knees against his chest.

Jesse couldn’t help but laugh. He’d half expected Hanzo to strike him, but instead, noticing his playful cheer, his oni only smiled in turn, joining him. The demon’s laughter, at that moment, bound him closer than any spell. He wanted to drown himself in it, riding that high for just a while longer… though all good things came to an end, eventually. 

That beautiful, singing laughter died down, all the same, until Hanzo was silent, staring pensively at his reflection in the surface of the water - eyes flickering, watching the koi swim back and forth in their own little world, unaware of the troubles on land. 

He wondered what Hanzo was thinking about, at the time: his brother, his life… _Jesse_ , perhaps.

“…You’re beautiful.” The words had spilled from his tongue before he could give them so much as a second thought. Jesse clamped his hand over his mouth, shaking the cold sweat from his brow. “I know that’s unprofessional, but… I mean it.” 

“You have already crossed the boundary of professionalism by fulfilling my request to travel to Hanamura at all.” 

“I guess you’re right,” he chuckled, though the clear irritation in Hanzo’s tone cut him deeper than the oni’s claws ever could. Even a man as emotionally stunted as Jesse could realize that Hanzo hadn’t appreciated the compliment. “Still, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”

For the longest time, Hanzo didn’t say anything at all. Jesse’s pulse was racing, dreading the mere possibility that he’d earned the ire of this man that he’d once thought inhuman.

“I am not averse to the nature of your comment, Master. My only concern is that this ‘beautiful’ body does not suit me.”

“What do you mean by that?”

The oni glanced at him, then, with cheeky nostalgia, both pride and sorrow. “I was rather popular with women, when I was young. You are not the first to claim that I make for a rather handsome man.” 

“And a humble one, too,” Jesse couldn’t help but joke, smiling wider than ever when that lovely laughter echoed through the air once more, blessing the warm, spring air with its beauty.

“I only speak the truth. Admittedly, I am rather fond of this body, though I am not so blind as to believe that I deserve to possess it. I am a monster. My appearance should very well reflect my wickedness.” 

…Did Hanzo think that he ‘deserved’ to be ugly? That he deserved to be cursed to spend the rest of eternity in a monster’s body?

A horrible, _disgusting_ thought wormed its way into Jesse’s mind when he pictured Hanzo with claws and fangs, charcoal skin and white eyes. _Pure insanity_. …And yet no matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise, Jesse couldn’t stop himself the thought from taking form. The idea grew stronger and stronger, developing shape and color until it was practically bursting at the seams.

“Well, I think you look fine just the way you are. Even as an oni, you’re… beautiful.” 

Hanzo merely blinked back at him, dumbfounded, as though he’d insisted the sky were green.

“What are you saying?”

“I mean it. You’re beautiful. It has less to do with your body and more with… you. The way you carry yourself. The way you talk.” Jesse coughed into his fist, suddenly nervous – and suddenly regretting his desire to voice his opinions at all. Even so, he persisted, driven on by that innocent, curious flash of light in Hanzo’s eyes. “About what you asked me earlier about The Tower of Babel, I don’t think humanity is really any better than we used to be. Nothing’s changed. Not really. Even if people in general are livin’ longer and better, that’s only some of us. A lucky few. There are still people suffering out there – and not because of demons. A lot of people in this world are okay with usin’ each other as steppin’ stones on their own way up, takin’ advantage of people who aren’t as lucky, pushin’ them down, just to make themselves feel better ‘bout their own lot in life. And the thing is, nobody even thinks twice about it. Now, maybe you’ve done some awful things, maybe you ain’t even sorry, but at the very least, you’re honest about it. You ain’t ridin’ around on some high horse, pretendin’ to be a good person when you know damn well you ain’t. You don’t make excuses like some people do.” 

Like Jesse had, a lifetime ago.

“I can respect that,” he continued, “It’s honest and thoughtful. It’s dignified. You could look like a sack of garbage, and I’d still think you’re beautiful.”

Hanzo only let out a curt, biting laugh… though his expression soon softened, revealing a warmth and tenderness that Jesse had once thought impossible of the oni – and of demonkind in general. 

“If I appear mature, it is due only to the fact that I have spent two-hundred years of my life in quiet solitude: in suffering and scarcity, both virtues of the spirit. Wisdom comes with both age and experience, Master, and I have had ample time to reflect upon my life: upon the foolishness of my youth.”

“You’re always mentionin’ things like that,” Jesse dared to remark, knowing well that he was pushing Hanzo’s boundaries, “Your youth, your family, the way things ‘used to be.’ You really _were_ human, weren’t you?”

“All demons were, at some point our lives, either human or an amalgam of human emotion.” 

…Though that revelation should have shaken him to the core, for some reason that Jesse didn’t quite understand, he could accept that knowledge if it came from Hanzo. If it came to him in that calm, steady tone, in that gentle lilt, like waves upon the shore. 

Though he had no reason to believe him, Jesse trusted him: his brutal honesty, his wisdom, his taciturnity.

“So that’s your answer, huh?” Hanzo’s body language never shifted. The man sat up ramrod straight, even in private, making it difficult to read his true emotions. “You know, nobody in Overwatch really knows how demons are born. We all have our own ideas, but even Moira and Angela, the biggest brains we had, couldn’t prove theirs. It’s not that I’m doubting you or anything, but if all demons used to be human, why don’t they ever say anything about it? Why aren’t any demons ever willing to talk to us?”

“Allow me to ask you a question in turn: what motivated you to become a hunter, Master?” Hanzo asked, though all in dull monotone. It wasn’t a true question; he was trying to prove a point, somehow – Jesse could discern that much. 

“Well, I joined Overwatch as part of this ‘rehabilitation’ thing. I was a pretty messed up kid and got into some trouble, so… servin’ Overwatch is how I did my time. At first, I didn’t really give a damn about it, but the longer I stayed, the more I worked together with Jack and everyone else, the more I realized that we were doin’ good work. I’m real proud of my job: fightin’ off demons, protectin’ the innocent. Things like that.”

“Why did you require rehabilitation?” Hanzo asked immediately, as though he’d stopped listening after that simple little tidbit.

Jesse laughed, startled and yet undeniably amused by Hanzo’s brute-force tactics of interrogation. “Well, when I was younger, I ended up joinin’ this gang. _Deadlock_. I was just a fence, pawnin’ off drugs and weapons, at first, but… well, the higher up in the ranks I climbed, the more I had to get my hands dirty. And the more I fought, the more crimes I committed, the easier it got to just look the other way. It really brought out the worst in me. Luckily, even though we didn’t have anything to do with demons, Overwatch brought us down just to keep the peace. The leaders at the time, Jack and Reyes, offered me a second chance, and the rest is history.”

He shot Hanzo a patient smile, eager to see if his demon would comfort him. A part of Jesse prayed that he would.

…Instead, however, Hanzo’s cold expression never wavered. 

“What led you to join the ranks of Deadlock?” 

“I needed money.”

“Why did you need money?”

“I was an orphan.”

“Why were you orphaned? You speak of the flame, Master, when I ask for the _spark_. What was the initial catalyst that caused you to join Overwatch?”

“You know, I think that’s enough,” he snapped back, growing uneasy. Goosebumps pricked at his bare skin, trembling under the weight of Hanzo’s unblinking gaze, sharp and wise. “You’re gettin’ _real_ damn personal, Longhorn.”

“Strange, is it not? Though you and your ilk hide your pasts behind the veil of ‘implied privacy,’ demons are expected to expose their histories voluntarily,” Hanzo retorted instantly, as though he’d been planning that response hours ahead, “During my imprisonment, your ‘Overwatch’ sent priests, warriors, and doctors down to the dungeons to interrogate me about everything from my past to my hopes for the future. My motivations and my emotions, if they believed that I possessed any at all. Your organization treats demons with cruelty and indifference; I fail to understand why you expect us to cooperate in the slightest. We do not owe you information about ourselves, so I suspect that the majority do not provide it. As for the few who readily claim their ties to humanity, what is the probability that your scientists would disregard their testimonies as the mad ramblings of liars and malcontents?”

Jesse sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He didn’t want to argue. 

“Okay. I get it. Demons don’t have a reason to talk to Overwatch – especially ‘bout somethin’ so personal. …But you promised you’d tell me the truth about _you_ , not about all demons, if I took you here. Didn’t you?”

“…I did.” 

Hanzo stood suddenly, kicking his sandals back on before trudging his way back inside, leaving Jesse to follow after him like a lost little pup. 

“I am not the sword but the hand that wields it.” Hanzo turned to him, then – his face, enveloped by the pale, glowing moonlight. “I never understood what my grandfather had meant by that statement until the day that my brother died.”

A solemn smile fell over the oni’s features. Though adrenaline pulsed through Jesse’s bloodstream, though every neuron in his body _screamed_ at him to turn tail and run, enraptured by Hanzo’s beauty, lost in the cryptic maze of his words, Jesse drew closer to the flytrap.

Closer to the creature who had killed and devoured thousands of men just like him. 

“What happened to him?”

“There are two types of dogs in this world, Master,” Hanzo explained, instead, in the roundabout way of speaking that Jesse had come to expect from him, “There are lap dogs, kept on chains and collars, who follow the commands of their betters for nothing more than scraps… and then there are strays. _Proud_ strays, who reject the pack and struggle for their next meal, alone in the darkness, all in exchange for freedom. …Determined to live his life unbound by the clan’s restrictive credo, my brother spurned honor and tradition in favor of the pursuit of his own happiness. Bringing home whores and gambling debts, all the while. The elders of our clan wished to bring him to heel, through any means necessary. They called for his reeducation, and then for his banishment, and his _execution_ , after that. My father defended him as long as he could, until he, too, passed… and I was left to assume his mantle.”

Jesse swallowed around the lump in his throat, unable to fight back the growing tightness in his chest. The solemn, mourning brother than he’d been in Shimada Castle seemed so dissonant, now, to the portrait of the man that Hanzo currently painted for him.

“I could have warned him, we could have run and started life anew, but in the end, I was unlike my father and brother: not a stray… but a _pet_ , content to follow orders for the promise of praise. I am not the sword but the hand that wields it. It was neither tradition nor the elders who killed my brother. It was me, and me alone. …I have no excuses and nobody left to blame.”

Hanzo scoffed, a cruel, miserable sound that chilled him to the bone.

“ _I_ killed him. My own flesh and blood, my heart and soul. My most precious treasure. …And for what? Metal coins and the intangible concepts of pride and honor. In the end, Genji died for _nothing_. When I should have learned from my mistake to better myself, when I should have joined a temple and atoned for his death, instead… I cut my hair and hung myself from the rafters to die in shame.”

His mocking laughter, full of bitterness, disgust, and _vile_ self-hatred, rang through the empty room. It grew weaker and weaker, his voice, breaking, until it devolved into nothing more than whimpers and quiet, trembling sobs. 

Jesse rushed to him in an instant, pulling the oni into his arms, struggling to hold him up as he collapsed against him, weeping against his shoulder. 

“Shh… don’t cry,” he hushed, lowering him down and cradling him into his lap, “Shh…… It’s alright. I’ve got you, Sweet Pea. You’re fine. Everything’s just fine.”

Though he knew full well that demons didn’t truly breathe, he almost feared, for a moment, that Hanzo would hyperventilate, right then and there, nestled in his arms. He hushed him again, stroking his fingers through his little ponytail. 

“You want some blood, Darlin’?” he asked, pressing his thumb against his canine and biting down until he broke the skin. Hissing from the sting, Jesse squeezed at his finger, allowing the blood to pool before offering it to the oni. “I know I said once every two weeks, but… it’s okay. Just a little, yeah? Have some blood, Pumpkin. Go on.”

Though he tried to resist, like any other demon, once enticed by the scent of iron, he couldn’t stay away. Hanzo latched onto his thumb, suckling gently for a moment, lapping at the blood. A fierce warmth blossomed over Jesse’s cheeks as he realized that the most intimate moment that ever he’d experienced in his long, lonely life, would be shared with an _oni_. 

Ever since the Swiss branch of Overwatch had dissolved, he’d closed himself off to the world. He didn’t want to experience another betrayal like the pain of losing his mentors in one decisive battle - not with a demon, but with themselves. Considering the fall of Blackwatch, it was fitting, in a way, that all demons were human first. There _was_ no evil in the world. Humanity brought pain and misfortune upon itself. 

Growing tired, Jesse tried to pull his thumb away, but in that mere, split second, Hanzo actually _bit_ him –

“Ow! Let go!”

He felt the pressure growing stronger, the wound, deepening… Hanzo’s bite was strong; perhaps if he tried hard enough, he could bite his thumb clean off. 

“I said, _let go_!” 

In a panic, he slammed his metal fist against Hanzo’s jaw, busting his lip and leaving a bruise that would surely last until morning, considering the binding spells. When Hanzo finally released his hand, he scrambled away into the corner. Lost in the haze of fight or flight, Jesse had his pistol trained on the oni’s forehead in a mere instant, ready and willing to reduce him into nothing more than dust. Slowly, Hanzo dared to meet his gaze, blinking slowly back at him as a mixture of their blood dripped down his chin: a swirl of crimson and viscous black. 

Growling, Jesse met his challenge, pushing himself upright and drawing closer, his aim, never wavering… until he noticed the expression in the oni’s eyes: shame, fear, and _betrayal_. At that moment, met with such vulnerability, despite the fact that Hanzo had instigated the incident in the first place, Jesse hadn’t felt so guilty since the days he served in Deadlock, preying on the innocent. 

Though he wanted nothing more than to apologize, his tongue just couldn’t form the words. As quickly as Jesse had fled, earlier, Hanzo did the same – picking himself up off of the tatami mats and slinking outside, to hide in the darkness.

Each man had an hour to himself: to cool off, to relax… or, more fittingly, to wallow in their own misery, as stubborn men were prone to do. Finally, when the clock struck midnight, Jesse had enough. Swallowing both his pride and his fear, he made his way into the garden…

Only to find Hanzo by the koi pond, covered in blood.

Three of the koi were missing, lying lifeless on the stone tile. Blood and scales coated Hanzo’s hands as he dug his sharpened fingernails into the fish time and again. He never stopped for a single moment, even when Jesse let out a simpering little _shriek_ in horror.

“I… miss the feeling of raking my claws through flesh and bone,” Hanzo admitted, staring down at the koi as that pitiful expression flashed through his eyes all over again, “I miss the resistance. The warmth between my fingertips. You cannot treat me as though I am human, Master. I am a monster. A _demon_. I have urges and instincts that I cannot resist.”

“Shh, shh, shh… Just calm down. Okay? …You’re not evil, Pumpkin; you’re _not_ evil, and… and I’m not mad. What is it that you need? Somethin’ to scratch?”

Hesitantly, as though hesitant to accept his kindness, Hanzo nodded.

“How often do you need it? Once a day?”

“I… I do not know. It is a fleeting urge.”

Jesse sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Okay. Okay, well… you just tell me when you get the urge, and… I’ll buy you a steak or somethin’. Let you claw it up. Okay? Does that sound alright?”

“You would do that for me?”

Jesse rolled his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“It is strange. It is unnatural and evil.”

“I’ll admit it ain’t pleasant, but if it’s what you gotta do, then it’s what you gotta do.” Steeling himself, Jesse picked up the dead koi one by one and began burying them beneath the bushes. The only thing that calmed his temper and stifled his horror was the fact that, upon closer inspection, Hanzo had snapped the joints between the koi’s heads and their bodies, granting them a quick and painless death before clawing them to ribbons. 

“I had a koi pond when I was a child,” Hanzo explained suddenly, looking down at the remaining fish in the pond, who didn’t even seem to recognize the threat hovering above them, “My brother would always pester me to get a ‘proper pet.’ He never thought that fish were capable of love. But when I walked past that pond, my koi would follow after me. They would rise to the surface to greet me every morning. I have always loved raising koi. …I did not intend for this to happen.”

“Was it the same with people?” Jesse probed, unable to repress his curiosity, “Is it premeditated, or is it just an ‘accident’ like it was just now?”

Hanzo drew closer, then, to help him bury the koi: each one in its own, separate grave. It was a strange sight, watching a demon bow and pray. 

“It was not my original intention to destroy villages. The first time that I licked human blood from my claws, I was so disgusted with myself that I could not proceed with the act of devouring my prey properly. I carried his body beneath a tree and gave him a proper burial, before isolating myself in a cave with the intention of starving to death.”

“Demons don’t need to eat, though. It’s just a craving,” Jesse remarked, much to Hanzo’s amusement.

“I was not given a list of instructions upon my rebirth as a demon, Master,” Hanzo teased, with a sliver of good cheer returned to him, “I thought that I would simply die, at first, and I would be freed of my torment. But then the seasons passed: spring to summer, fall and winter, and still, I did not die. I did not so much as weaken; my body remained as muscular as ever. When a full year had passed, when the cherry blossoms bloomed once more in Kantō, two lovers stumbled into my cave, one afternoon. They were adolescents: still in the cusp of puberty. I never wanted to harm them. I attempted to slink unnoticed into the depths of my cave, but my horns glowed brighter than the sun, drawing their attention.”

“So… you attacked them.”

“The fool attacked _me_ ,” Hanzo corrected, “Eager to impress his companion, the boy drew his tanto. He swung at me incessantly, cursing at me, hurling stones. He refused to leave... _so I bit him_. It was only meant as a warning, a mere deterrent, but the scent of his flesh, the texture of muscle between my fangs… _captivated_ me. I pinned the boy against the ground and bit through his stomach, to devour his liver. The girl screamed and ran; I had the opportunity to let her go, but after I was finished with her lover, I gave chase. I allowed her to run, leading me all the way to her village, where I began to tear apart their homes in search of meat. Eager to defend their village, the men gathered together to take up arms against me while the women and children hid in the temple. After I had slaughtered all of the men, as a testament to human bravery, the women shielded the doorway with their own bodies, though they knew full well that they could not repel me.”

“Did you kill those women?”

“I did,” Hanzo replied, without a moment’s hesitation. “Afterwards, I rammed the door, clawing through the wood and breaking down their barricades. The girl who had originally entered my cave was amongst the group of children huddled in the temple. Realizing that she had caused the deaths of her friends and neighbors by leading me to their home, she fell to her knees before me and begged me to spare the other children in exchange for her life.”

“So, did you?” Jesse asked, fearing the answer.

“If one could bargain with a rampaging demon, then humans would have no need for Overwatch. I killed every last child in the building and did not once regret it. Something changed in me the moment that I tasted human flesh. It was almost as though I had shed away what little remained of my humanity. I had no difficulty hunting after that fateful day. I had my moments of clarity, certainly, when I would lose myself in shame and depression, but… it was easy to fall back into my old routine.”

Growing numb to horror and inhumanity – it was something that Jesse knew well, himself, from his days in Deadlock. For some reason, when Hanzo put it like that, he could imagine that feeling of hurt and emptiness, the blistering apathy, with such relatable clarity that it terrified him. 

“Do you hate me, now that I have revealed the truth about myself?” Hanzo asked with startling confidence, “Just because I am eloquent and introspective does not mean that I am an exception to demonkind, Master. I am a predator. A murderer.”

“So am I,” he confessed, unwilling to run from his own personal demons when Hanzo was so honest with him, “The Deadlock Gang wasn’t just some smalltime gig. It was a terrorist group. I used to think that there wasn’t any good left in me, but I was wrong. …And I think there’s good left in you, too. You could’ve bitten my thumb off back there, but you didn’t. It was just a nip; you hesitated.”

Hanzo remained silent, then, but when Jesse held out his hand, ready to lead him back inside, the demon actually took it, weaving their fingers together.


	5. Chapter 5

“This ain’t so bad,” Jesse remarked as they made their way through Aokigahara. Though the forest’s dense foliage blocked out the sun, leaving them to wander in gloomy darkness, Jesse tried his best to remain optimistic – a stark contrast to his companion’s perpetual irritability. “Looks like those warnin’ signs posted at the gate were wrong; we haven’t seen a single demon yet!”

“We will shortly, if you do not cease your pointless shouting.”

Hanzo shoved him aside with a scowl, baring his teeth, as he trudged through the muck. Growling, the oni scratched at his arm with wild fury, bursting open the blisters that had formed when he’d brushed against blooming branches of holly, weakening the bonds of whatever innate magic held his body together. Grumbling from either discomfort or pain, Hanzo flexed his fingers as though his little, pointed nails were the razor-sharp claws he’d possessed in his demon form.

It was funny, in a way, how Hanzo’s demonic mannerisms had translated over to his human body. The way he growled and gnashed his teeth. The way he walked, hulking around as though his upper body still weighed five hundred pounds. Headbutting trees and crumbling stone walls, trying to sharpen horns that simply weren’t there. 

Those eccentricities were actually endearing, in their own right; Jesse never wanted him to change.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. We’ll be fine. I’ll protect you.”

“In what situation would I _ever_ require your protection?”

“A situation where I’m bindin’ your magic, maybe?” he teased, “You ain’t exactly the Demon King, harbinger of ruin the way you are now, Sweet Pea. Just stay behind me, alright? If we get into a fight I can’t win, _then_ I’ll release your binding spells.”

…Though that was a last resort. 

A binding spell between a master and familiar, one that united their very spirits, could be cast only once. The moment he released the spell, Hanzo’s spirit would be free. Free to wander and roam, free to terrorize humans… free to leave him behind on a whim, just like his mentors and his family had, all those years ago. 

In the end, Jesse’s motivations for keeping Hanzo bound were entirely selfish. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust him to control his nature, or that he feared for humanity’s safety -

Jesse just didn’t want to let him go.

Stopping to rest for a moment, hunter and demon took a seat beneath the shade. Though he wasn’t certain whether human medicine worked on demons at all, Jesse rubbed a bit of healing ointment over Hanzo’s arm, regardless. At the very least, he hoped that the memory of Jesse’s doting on him would be enough to bring his companion some semblance of comfort. 

He wanted to treasure their time together, slowly bandaging Hanzo’s arm and pulling his sleeve over his shoulder to shield him from further damage. He wanted to care for the oni. He wanted to protect him.

“Is everything alright, Master?” Hanzo asked suddenly, sensing his unease. 

Jesse visibly winced. “Can you please stop callin’ me that? I don’t want to be your master, Han. I just want to be ‘Jesse.’”

Taking a deep breath, steeling himself for a bitter rejection, he continued. “We’ve been travellin’ together for a little over a week now, yeah? I know that isn’t a long time, especially for a guy who lives forever, but during that time, I’ve… I’ve really gotten to like you. You’re a great guy; a great _friend_.”

One of the closest things that Jesse had to a true friend, anyway.

While he loved his team to death, he had to admit that their relationships were somewhat shallow. Few if any people knew anything about his past, and fewer still were trusted with the burden of discussing it - of supporting a man who didn’t _deserve_ to be supported.

Despite the fact that they had fought and bled together, as painful as it was to admit, Jesse simply didn’t trust them with such sensitive information about himself. Though he knew that they would never look down on him, illogically, absurdly, a part of him still feared their judgement. He couldn’t confess to such terrible sins when people like Lena and Lucio, so selfless and caring, would have rather died than joined Deadlock, even in his precarious position. 

They would have never compromised their morals like he had; they would have never fallen that far in the first place. 

They were too innately good. 

…But Hanzo? Hanzo understood the dangerous allure of darkness. The fear and the helplessness. They were so similar; two sides of the very same coin. In another lifetime, if their positions were switched, Jesse was certain that they would have ended up exactly where they were now. 

_Together_.

Travelling side by side, as two halves of a single soul.

“What do you think?” he asked at last, unable to tolerate Hanzo’s awkward pause. “If you just want to be an ordinary familiar, then fine. I’ll shut up. But if you want, if you’re okay with it, I’d really like to be your friend.”

Reaching into his pocket for the surprise he’d purchased for Hanzo, Jesse found that his hands wouldn’t stop trembling. 

“Here –” he continued, as a gesture of goodwill, “I got this from the giftshop in Shimada Castle. The clerk didn’t speak very good English, but she told me that it’s lucky. It has a blessing on it, supposedly. I know this little thing can’t actually repel evil, but… I hope it’ll keep your demons away.”

Hanzo took that little charm with quiet reverence, bringing old, forgotten memories into light: his mother, gently handling her rosary as she led their family in prayer. A strange sense of calm and comfort fell over him. 

Hanzo’s fingertips brushed against his hand. Somehow, Jesse knew that he would feel the ghost of that touch long after the demon pulled away.

“An omamori…” Hanzo remarked with playful curiosity, his expression, as serene as ever… until he held the charm up to the slivers of sunlight, breaking through the treetops. “Why did you choose this one specifically?”

“It looked like the nicest one there,” he answered, “I picked the gold one to match your ribbon.”

“You based your choice on nothing more than color? Are you unaware that there are different types of omamori?”

“…There are?” Jesse asked, growing anxious all over again. He’d chosen something strange; he just knew it. He always did have rotten luck. Just as he was fearing the worst, however, Hanzo laughed, captivatingly cheerful, so endearing that for just a moment, the strangest thought flittered through Jesse’s mind.

_He never wanted their journey to end; he wanted to travel with Hanzo for the rest of eternity._

His oni showed him the charm up close, using his pointed nail to trace over the kanji. 

“The blessing that you have selected is known as _en-musubi_. Romance. It is meant as a charm to bring good fortune in seeking one’s soulmate.”

He blushed beet red at that moment, brighter than his serape. 

“I am so sorry. I didn’t think that –”

“It is quite alright,” Hanzo remarked, brushing away his tangled, sweaty bangs, “I appreciate the fact that you thought of me at all. Thank you… Jesse.”

His demon pinned the charm to his belt and motioned for him to keep on walking. With his feet, lighter than air, and with his head in the clouds, all Jesse could do was follow helplessly after him, caught in his web and smiling like a fool.

They made idle conversation as they traveled, taking about nothing more important than favorite foods and childhood memories, like speaking with a friend he’d known all his life, instead of a demon he’d bound to himself on a whim.

“So, why was this forest barred off in the first place?” Jesse asked, making serious conversation if only to take his mind off of the fact that the sun was quickly setting, “It looks safe enough to me.”

When they’d arrived at the border, they’d found the forest gated off from the rest of the surrounding landscape, with signs posted, encouraging people to reconsider suicide, to get help, to stay away.

Though he’d made light of them earlier, Jesse would be lying if he didn’t admit that they worried him. 

“It is said that Aokigahara serves as a border to the spirit realm,” Hanzo explained, “Demons heavily aligned with magic, such as shinigami and onyudo, draw their strength from similar rifts between the worlds. It is only natural that your human governments would want to discourage civilians from stumbling into areas like this.”

“If this place has a lot of ‘spirit power’ or whatever, then why don’t more demons move in here?”

“Not all demons are the same, Jesse,” Hanzo scolded with a paralyzing glare that made him feel five years old, all over again, shrinking under the weight of his mother’s scorn, “Many of us are not particularly reliant on spiritual power, but on ki: body and vitality. Living in this forest would not impart any additional strength upon me. My wounds would heal faster, perhaps, and my senses may be slightly sharper, but those benefits would not be significant enough to justify constant territorial disputes with demons who require this power far more than I do.”

“Territorial disputes…” Looking down at his hips, Jesse checked his weapon holsters just to ensure that Peacekeeper was fully loaded in the event of an emergency. “Then you really do think we’ll find somethin’ here?”

Before he could look back up, he smacked into Hanzo’s arm, extended to prevent him from moving any further. The oni hushed him, tugging him behind a tree before glancing out behind the trunk. 

“H-Hey, what’s goin’ on?” Jesse whispered, only to be hushed once more, with Hanzo’s hand, clamping over his mouth. He struggled at first, mumbling indignantly behind the demon’s grasp.

“Be still. …I hear something.”

He didn’t know what Hanzo was talking about at first, but the more he focused, the closer he listened, the more it became apparent that ahead of them, behind the thick bushes and down the steep incline, was the sound of a struggle. Goosebumps pricked at his flesh. A voice below let out a blood-curdling _scream_ that sent lightning shooting up his spine. 

_‘Tasukete! Tasukete kudasai!’_

Trained to suppress his fear in service of the innocent, Jesse drew his pistol and raced off towards the sound of the woman’s voice, praying that he wasn’t too late. “Hold on, I’m comin’!” 

“Jesse, _no_!”

Though Hanzo reached for him, he shoved the demon aside, racing off into the forest before he could follow. Tearing down vines and gnarled branches, he pushed on ahead, ever forward, until he made his way into a clearing, closed off by the cliffs. In front of him, a young woman struggled to stand on her own.

“Oh… H-Hello,” she stuttered, the moment she caught sight of him, “Did you come to help me? I fell from that cliff over there when I was looking for berries. I must have sprained my ankle. I can’t get up.”

“What’re you even doin’ in a place like this?” he asked, tentatively making his approach.

As though struck by sudden clarity, the girl flinched back, her eyes, trailing down to the gun in his hand. 

“I’m _not_ a demon!” she practically shouted, sending the forest birds fleeing from the treetops, “I’m not. I just… I live here.” 

She sighed, running her hand through her hair, soaked through with mud and sweat. 

“I live in a village up that cliff and further to the west.” 

“Hold up – you _live here_?”

“I know… I know that sounds crazy, but it isn’t just me. There are a lot of people there. …We all have our reasons for leaving the cities. For me, it was because my parents… figured out I had a girlfriend. They kicked me out, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so my grandmother took me in.”

“Your _grandma_ lives here, too?” 

“Yeah,” she laughed, as though she could actually understand the absurdity of it all, “She was one of the people who founded our village. She left my grandfather when he gambled away all of their money, and she came here with our priest and a few other people. Our priest is the reason anyone can live here at all. He used to be a hunter with Overwatch, until he got sick of fighting – of watching his friends die. He left his base in Nagasaki and tried to retire, but he looks kind of scary. You know? I know it’s mean to say it, but he has a lot of burns and scars from fighting demons, and he’s a foreigner, on top of that, so nobody in the cities wanted to talk to him or give him a place to live.”

“That’s terrible...” He could almost imagine it: an old vet, limping through the city, only to watch the very people he’d tried to protect turn away from him, crossing the street just to avoid him. No good deed went unpunished. 

Though Overwatch was humanity’s last line of defense, the people relied on them only reluctantly. Long ago, they had been hailed as heroes, but once information of Blackwatch’s corruption and political intrigue had leaked to the press, the public turned against them in an instant. It didn’t help that somebody had hacked Dr. O’Deorain’s research, proliferating the videos where she’d tortured demons for information, dissecting them alive in the name of science. Though they supposedly lacked emotion and souls, demons still screamed. They cried, and they whimpered, and begged for mercy.

In truth, Jesse had never watched the videos, himself; he didn’t want to think that his teammates, his _friends_ , could be capable of such evil – or that the demons they captured were the _real_ victims.

Out of sight, out of mind. 

If he never saw it, he could go on pretending that it wasn’t real. 

“Our priest is a really good guy, though. Everyone in the village is a misfit in some way. There are even reformed criminals, but if they can work, and if they really want a second chance, he never turns anyone away. It’s hard to live here sometimes, but we have food and water, and our priest knows spells to keep the shinigami away. Our village is safe because of that, but it’s dangerous outside the gate, especially at night.”

“Then we’d better get goin’,” Jesse replied, eager to escort her home. Just as he began help her up, however, Hanzo finally caught up to them, scowling.

“I-Is this a hunter friend of yours?” the girl asked.

“Yeah. This is… _Longhorn_. He’s undercover, so it’s just a codename. I’m Jesse.”

“Nice to meet you both, properly! My name is Kanako. I’m -”

“ _What are you_?” Hanzo hissed, ignoring her greeting and stalking up to them so aggressively that Jesse hid the girl behind his body, just out of protective instinct alone. 

“Wh-What?” she gasped, clinging onto Jesse’s serape.

“I sense powerful magic surrounding you.”

“Oh… that must be our priest. A-And the blessing he puts on all of us! He’s –”

“No human could ever wield such potent magic; this is the work of a demon.”

Kanako went still, her spine, stiffening ramrod straight as she stared back at Hanzo in wonder. “…You’re a –”

“Hey, c’mon. Cut that out, Longhorn. You’re scarin’ her.”

“ _I_ am frightening _her_? There is demonic magic at work, Jesse! We need to be careful.”

“I know, I know. But Kanako said that her village is nearby, and that’s dangerous at night outside the gates. Look, I know all of this sounds kind of suspicious, but she’s all alone, here. We’ve gotta do _somethin’_. Even if it’s a trap, shouldn’t we at least check out this village? I mean, what if Jack’s there?” 

“There are no villages in Aokigahara,” Hanzo retorted with startling confidence.

“Well, how do you know that? When was the last time you even came back here?” he asked, growing more and more agitated as Kanako trembled behind him, fearing Hanzo’s wrath. “Let’s just take her home and then we’ll see, okay? I’d rather be wrong about her and walk into a trap than leave her to the wolves if she’s tellin’ the truth. That just ain’t right. We can’t do that.”

“And why not? Assuming that she is telling the truth, which she most certainly is not, any unarmed human foolish enough to wander into this forest at sunset deserves whatever fate befalls them.”

“How can you be so heartless? I stayed with Overwatch because I wanted to help people – and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. Now, you can come along, or you can stay out here.” Swallowing down his fear, Jesse put on his kindest smile, and, with a tip of his hat, motioned for Kanako to lead the way.

Instead, however, Hanzo pushed past the both of them, storming onwards. 

“I know precisely where your supposed ‘village’ is. I can sense the magic ahead of us - and below us.” When he looked back at them, the unrestrained malice in Hanzo’s expression froze the blood in his veins. “This is a trap. You may be able to fool my companion, but I see through your deceptions. You are more than you appear, as am I. Tread lightly.”

“…He’s scary,” Kanako muttered, gripping onto his arm, as Jesse trailed after Hanzo with fear and embarrassment festering in the pit of his stomach. 

“Don’t worry. His bark is worse than his bite. Deep down, Longhorn is a good guy; he really is.”

Just as Kanako had claimed, the village was a mere ten minutes away, up the hill and to the west. When they arrived at the gate, they were met by group of villagers crowded around the entrance, holding guns and torches.

“Kanako-chan?” an older, blond-haired man called in heavily, Dutch-accented English the moment he saw them on the horizon. Dropping his torch, he ran up to her with an expression of pure relief washed over his features. “Kanako-chan! Thank God you’re safe. We were just about to go looking for you. Where have you been? Your grandmother is worried sick!”

“I-I’m sorry,” she exclaimed, still clinging to Jesse, “I was out picking berries, when the cliff edge crumbled. I fell and sprained my ankle. A demon would have probably found me by now if Jesse-kun hadn’t saved me. He’s a hunter, just like you!”

“Humanity needs Overwatch,” he stated – it was an old credo that hunters loved to recite like a mantra during their darkest hours, to remind themselves why it was that they fought so hard to begin with, “Hunters are always there for people when they need them most. Thank you for helping her, Jesse.”

“Hey, my pleasure.”

“Would you like to rest here for the night? There aren’t any inns in this village, but you can stay with me in the temple. Please, at the very least, allow me to serve you supper.”

Jesse glanced back at Hanzo, whose posture had changed dramatically, from that of an ordinary human to an oni, preparing itself for combat. He’d widened his stance, lowering his upper body, as though ready to claw at anything that so much as approached him. Though a subtle motion, Jesse noticed his fingers twitch with anticipation; he gnashed his teeth together, awaiting the grind of tusk against bone. 

“C’mon, Dumplin’,” he called, trying his best to ease the tension between them, “Everything’s fine. Let’s just stay for dinner, and then if you’re still uneasy, we can go. Okay?”

Remaining silent, Hanzo shook his head with clear disapproval, though he followed Jesse to the temple, nonetheless.

________________________________________________

They chatted for a while upon their arrival - or rather, Jesse and the priest spoke of Overwatch, while Hanzo glowered at them from his own corner of the table. 

“Your friend there is the sullen sort, isn’t he?” the priest asked, chuckling fondly as he spooned a bit of stew into little, wooden bowls. 

“I guess,” Jesse replied, rubbing at the back of his neck, “But he’s a good partner, so I don’t mind a bit of radio silence now and then.”

“I see. It’s good to have a partner that you can trust. Keep each other close. Take care of each other,” the priest added with a melancholy expression, looking a thousand miles away, “I’ve served in the Overwatch for most of my life, jumping from branch to branch between missions. I’ve lost a lot of friends along the way.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. …Speakin’ of casualties, though, the reason why we’re in Aokigahara in the first place is because one of our teammates went missin’ in this area. He’s an older guy with white hair and blue eyes, wearin’ a blue coat and a red tactical visor. Have you seen him?”

“I’m sorry. Nobody here has noticed anyone who looks like that – and somebody would’ve gossiped about him by now, if they had. This is a big forest, though; don’t give up. If I were you, I’d start looking by the big ravine to the south of here.”

“Thanks, pardner,” Jesse offered with a polite tip of his hat, “We’ll pick up the search in the mornin’, then.”

The priest nodded, before standing and bidding them goodnight. 

“Hey,” Jesse called, “You ain’t gonna join us for dinner?”

“Oh, this is just the leftovers. I already ate,” the priest replied, “I think I’m going to turn in for the evening. You hunters enjoy your night. Rest a little. I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast.”

After the priest had limped back into his bedroom, Jesse started chowing down, trying to drown himself in food, if only to forget about the gaping hole that Hanzo was drilling into his skull with that unwavering glare of his. Eating in silence brought back terrible memories. 

Just him and his mother, sitting at the dinner table. 

No more Pa. No more Sis. The two of them had been hunting together when she’d wandered off on her own, into a desert cave. They’d been told by the authorities that the area was safe, that all the demons had been eradicated within a hundred miles of the city, but what she had found that day as a result of her childish curiosity had not been gemstones or lizards, but an _ogre_. She was only a child, and yet it didn’t even hesitate to attack her, biting down onto her legs. 

Somehow, despite the odds, fueled by nothing more than paternal instinct, after a brutal fight, his father had managed to pry her free and outrun it, distracting the monster with a bit of intestine, torn from the gash in his own stomach. Heavily bleeding, with his entrails, spilling out, he’d carried his sister across the desert, all the way to the hospital, just to collapse and die right as he handed her off to the doctors.

But his sister had been dead for hours. She was missing half of her body. His father was just so desperate that in the heat of the moment, he hadn’t noticed.

In the end, it was all for nothing.

If he’d only sacrificed her and ran away, then while their family would have lost a child, at the very least, Jesse wouldn’t have lost a father, as well. He’d blamed her for so long, even though she’d suffered. Even though she was innocent.

In the end, though his family had always preferred burials, his sister and his father were cremated. His mother didn’t want them to lie in their coffins, looking like that. The grief overwhelmed her; she drowned in it. 

He could hardly believe how far she’d fallen. In his memories, she such a vibrant soul, loving and so full of life. He could still remember her smile when she’d held his hand at the state fair, when she’d ridden with him on the spinning teacups.

But after the funeral, he’d had to take care of everything: cooking, cleaning, bills. She was so lost in her depression that most days, she couldn’t even drag herself out of bed in the mornings. Meals were taken in silence, if she even ate at all. Though of course, even that miserable state of things hadn’t lasted long. One day, Jesse had simply woken up and prepared breakfast, only to be disturbed by water, dripping from the ceiling and onto his nose. 

It was coming from his mother’s bathroom. When he’d gone upstairs that day, he’d only expected a leak. 

Never in his life could he have ever prepared himself for - 

“…Are you still mad at me?” he asked at last, forcing himself off of that dangerous train of thought.

“I am not ‘angry,’” the oni insisted, letting out an exasperated sigh, “I am only concerned that you are allowing your sense of justice to cloud your better judgement. I understand why you had wanted to come to the girl’s aid, and why you currently feel a sense of camaraderie with the priest as fellow members of Overwatch, but I sense powerful magic at work in this place. That fact is undeniable. I want to protect you, Jesse, but I cannot do so when you do not heed my warnings.”

“We haven’t seen any demons,” Jesse reiterated, “Is it really so unbelievable that the magic you’re sensing is from that priest? He’s almost as old as Jack. Veteran hunters are stronger than you’d think. They have a lot of training. A lot of experience.”

Putting on an apologetic smile – and desperate for comfort, himself - Jesse took Hanzo’s hand from across the table, stroking his thumb over the demon’s knuckles. “We’ll be fine. Everything’s going to be okay, and if it isn’t, for whatever reason, you can count on me. I’ll protect you.”

“…I want to leave.”

With his eyes half-lidded, Jesse leaned back against his chair and looked out the window. The trees swayed gently in the calm, night air, uncaring of the horrors that humans endured beneath them. Though his mind and body were completely drained, though he wanted nothing more than to take a bath and go to sleep, a promise was a promise: Hanzo wanted to leave.

“Okay,” Jesse agreed, packing up his things, “Let’s get out of here.”

Finally, _finally_ , a smile broke through his oni’s doom and gloom. “Thank you, Jesse.” 

…

…

“… _Jesse_?”

“I-I’m okay. I think I just stood up too fast, there.” 

_Why else would his eyes be so blurry_? He rubbed at his face, as dancing sprites of light flickered in the corners of her vision. 

He felt nauseous.

Taking a step forward, he called for Hanzo to get him a glass of water, but for some reason, he couldn’t move his tongue. Saliva dripped down his chin – or at least, he thought it did. He ran his hand over his mouth and found that his lips lost all sense of touch and heat. 

“Jesse!” 

…It was like a nightmare. 

Though he commanded his body to run, his legs felt like lead, his knees, cemented in place. He dragged himself across the floor before collapsing into Hanzo’s arms. He hadn’t touched a drop of liquor, and yet, the world around him spun in a whorl of light and color – and that ever encroaching darkness. He could see Hanzo shouting at him, but he couldn’t hear the words. Every pulse of his bloodstream roared between his ears in a mighty deluge. His heart fluttered, twitching, _gasping_ -

Hanzo grabbed onto his shoulders, shaking him wildly. 

The very last thought that fluttered through his mind, like leaves on the wind, was that he must have been a monster, himself, wicked to the very core, to have made his oni cry like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, things have to take a turn for the worse, sometime~
> 
> Thank you for your comments! Even if I don't reply to every single one, I do read and appreciate all of them! Please do feel free to let me know what you think about this story or to ask any questions about the characters or the verse!


	6. Chapter 6

“Welcome home,” his lover crooned from across the kitchen. Shamelessly naked, save for a tiger-skin loincloth, he flashed him a toothy grin, all jagged fangs, dripping with venom. Unbothered by the heat, his lover reached his bare hands into the scorching hot oven. 

“Sit down,” he insisted, “I prepared my specialty.”

Despite the fact that he could see the dial set to its highest temperature, what his lover pulled out of the oven, what he then dropped in front of him, was a raw, human liver. 

It splattered onto the table, dashing dark steaks of blood onto the floor below. The tissue pulsed beneath his lover’s grasp, twitching madly as he dug his fingers into it, tearing it to ribbons. He dragged his claws against his tongue, slow and sensual, before pulling Jesse in for a kiss that tasted of iron, plague, and famine.

__________________________________________

…Was he dreaming? 

His body felt so heavy, sinking deeper and deeper into the darkness of the ocean. He couldn’t hold his breath any longer. His lungs screamed for air: a wild cacophony of terror and panic. Instinct overpowered knowledge. Pure reflex. Knowing it would drown him, still, he gasped for breath. Water rushed into him, weighing him down.

_Help me_

The words bubbled up in a desperate whimper, floating skywards. As if hearing his prayers, clawed hands reached into the water, enveloping his broken body. They pulled him up, and up, and _up_ , out of the deep void of emptiness that threatened to swallow him whole.

“Jesse,” his lover called from beyond the veil.

“Jesse, wake up.”

The warmth of Hanzo’s palm, stroking his cheek, dragged him away from the abyss of death. Shivering in the cold, weakly, he reached for him, clinging to his robes like a lost, little child. 

“I said, _wake up_ ,” Hanzo repeated.

The hand that had so tenderly cradled him suddenly _slapped_ against his face, startling him out of unconsciousness.

“Wh-What’s goin’ on? I’m -” Hanzo shoved him away just as rancid bile shot up his gullet, spilling onto the floor. With tears, pricking at his eyes, he wretched, spilling out his poisoned supper in its entirety. Instead of comforting him, Hanzo jabbed the heel of his hand against his back, forcing out another gush of vomit. At the very least, he had the courtesy to gather Jesse’s hair into a tight bundle, holding it back until he was breathless. 

Heaving, he collapsed against the earth. 

Despite that irritated expression - his brows, furrowed, and his lips, pressed into that tight, thin line - Hanzo coddled him all the same, wiping a damp cloth against his face.

“Here,” his oni offered, pressing his drinking gourd against his lips, tilting it back gently, “Consider yourself fortunate that I do not need this water, myself. Death would serve as a fitting punishment, considering the misfortunate that your foolishness has brought upon us both.”

Slowly, Jesse’s world took on clarity, the lines, growing shaper, the colors, dividing to take on hues of their very own: grey, and black, and _red_.

He jolted back, spilling water over his stomach.

_He wasn’t in the temple anymore._

He’d fallen unconscious on tatami mats, surrounded by statues of gods and idols, to awaken in what could only be described as Hell, itself. Shackled and chained to the bedrock, caged like the demons in Gibraltar’s dungeons. 

Jesse could only struggle against his bonds as the adrenaline kicked in. 

His eyes adjusted to the darkness, revealing countless cages and a pile of bodies in the corner, dried and cracked, as if a mere stiff breeze could shatter their bones. From the cell beside him, an old woman groaned - though it was only when Jesse scrambled up to check on her did he realize that she was likely younger than he was, dressed in a Japanese school uniform and with her hair, tied in pigtails.

He drew back in horror - his chains, rattling. “Oh, shit… Where the hell are we?”

“A demon’s den: the lair of a _shinigami_.” Though his voice barely rose above a whisper, Hanzo’s words echoed for miles, travelling through the winding tunnels. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, praying to God that he was wrong. 

He’d wanted to find the shinigami, yes, but not like _this_. Not with his mind in a fog, and his body, weak and shaking. Jesse reached for his belt, only to discover that Peacekeeper was missing – as was his lockpicking kit and his pocketknife. Even something as innocuous as his _lighter_ had disappeared. He patted furiously at his pockets as the morbid realization of his own helplessness slowly settled upon him.

“I am certain of it. Look at those corpses; the bodies are still intact. Shinigami drain their victims of vitality itself - the very force of life. This cannot be the work of any other demon.”

“But I didn’t notice any demon, earlier. Was it one of the villagers? It wasn’t that priest, was it? He was… He was with Overwatch.” 

“That was a lie. He deceived you,” Hanzo groaned, as though he’d known everything from the start and couldn’t believe Jesse’s stupidity. 

He should have believed him. _He should have trusted him_.

“The meal that he served to us had been poisoned, Jesse. Shortly after you fell unconscious, a group of villagers confiscated your weapons and carried us down to this dungeon.”

“Are they _all_ demons, then? They can’t be!” 

He’d heard of the occasional partnership amongst demons, certainly, but he had never considered them social enough to form something like a village of their very own. 

“No. They are likely human. A shinigami’s magic reaches into the furthest depths of a human’s cognition, turning them complacent. I suspect that these ‘villagers’ have been possessed in some way, manipulating travelers to enter this village, only to subdue them and bring them here, in an effort to increase their numbers. The longer you stay in this place, Jesse, the more likely you are to fall victim to the shinigami’s magic, as well.”

Jesse wormed his hand beneath his shirt, rubbing his thumb over the tattoo on his chest: the mark of a hunter. The fact that it hadn’t been skinned off or cauterized meant that the villagers simply hadn’t noticed. 

“No, I’ll be fine. I have a rune on me that wards off demonic possession.” 

“Is that so?” Hanzo asked, seemingly impressed, at first, though he soon closed his eyes with a strange, pensive expression, “…That may prove to be a disadvantage, in the long run. If the shinigami realizes that he cannot control you, then -”

“Then it’ll eat me, instead.” He let out a curt, self-depreciating laugh. Losing his strength, Jesse slumped down into a boneless heap, leaning against the wall. “Great. …Well, what’s gonna happen to you? Demons don’t eat each other, do they?”

“Not typically. Shinigami are an exception, though the risk would likely outweigh the benefit of such a meager meal, in this circumstance. As a demon, I could cause quite a bit of damage to his den, in the struggle. Thus, a shinigami would have no reason to imprison me here. If I do not resist, most likely, he will allow me to leave this place unhindered. Ordinarily, expending energy in a pointless battle between demons would benefit neither of us.”

He was about to agree, when he caught the anomaly in Hanzo’s statement. “…What do you mean ‘ordinarily?’”

Hanzo considered his words carefully, ending in a quiet hum. 

“It is… difficult to explain. When you lost consciousness, when it became clear to me that the entire village had been enthralled, in truth, I considered abandoning you to your fate, to face the consequences of your own foolishness.”

“…You thought about leaving me here?” he asked, sharp and piercing. 

_Ridiculous_. 

He didn’t have the right to sound so offended when it was only until recently that he considered his companion to be worthy of life at all. When hunters just like Jesse had treated Hanzo so cruelly in the past, what reason would the oni have to stay? 

“Of course. Demons are inherently selfish, and I am no exception. I could have saved myself quite a bit of trouble, had I fled. The only reason why I stayed, why I feigned unconsciousness and allowed the villagers to imprison us together… is because I care for you. _I want to protect you._ …I suppose that is as well as I am able to describe it.” The demon chuckled sheepishly, his expression, soft and warm. Endlessly fond. “The probability that you can escape from this place alone are slim to none. You are outnumbered and outplayed, Jesse. You lack the power to even break free of your bonds.” 

“…But _you_ can.” 

A heavy curtain of silence fell between them. A mutual understanding. 

“Not the way that I am now.”

 _He wanted him to release the binding spell_.

“…Well, how do I know you won’t just kill me and run off?” 

God, he regretted those words almost as soon as they’d left his lips. The hurt and _betrayal_ that had flashed across the oni’s eyes would stay with him until his dying breath. He had to remember that Hanzo was not an ordinary demon. Though he could have abandoned him to die, Hanzo stayed with him, risking his freedom, out of nothing more than tenderness and loyalty. 

…And there he was, questioning his intentions. Trailing his eyes to the floor, Jesse bowed his head in shame.

“You have no guarantee that I will not betray you,” Hanzo answered, regaining his composure in mere seconds, always so dignified, “You would have no choice but to place your trust in a creature that, by its very nature, cannot be trusted.”

“No, that’s not it. I _do_ trust you,” he snapped back, desperate to salvage their relationship, “I do. But bein’ a hunter is… Everyone always told me that demons are liars. I know that isn’t true; you’ve been more honest than most of the people I’ve met. …I’m sorry I didn’t trust your instinct, earlier, when we found that girl. I know that was stupid of me; I know I was an idiot. I just wanted to do the right thing.”

“If I may speak freely,” Hanzo began, “I admire that about you: the courage to stand by your own beliefs, even in the face of great difficulty, against rationality, itself. If only I possessed even a fraction of your resolve when I still walked this earth as a mortal, perhaps my brother and I could have -”

His voice trailed off into a quiet sigh and pensive silence. 

“Well, perhaps there is little point in dwelling on the past. I only wish to say that I owe you too great of a debt to ever betray you. After all, you brought me home. You prayed at my brother’s shrine.”

“It ain’t that big of a deal,” he remarked, brushing it off.

“Oh, but it is. Before you came to me that day, in the dungeons of Gibraltar, I had not so much as thought of home in centuries. All that I knew was hunger and cold. I had forgotten the village and my brother. I had even forgotten my own name. Because of you, Jesse, I remember, now, what I truly am.”

Wordlessly, a fragile understanding formed between them: of what they believed, of what they were - of what they were _to each other_. Taking Hanzo’s hand, Jesse pulled himself up to his feet, gripping onto the oni’s tattooed arm to steady his gait. 

“So, what’s the plan for after we get out of here?” he asked, relaying his trust and goodwill in one, simple message.

“We should find your weapons and escape from these tunnels,” Hanzo answered, “I know that you wish to search your mentor, but you require healing. We do not know the full extent of the poison that you have ingested.”

He was right, of course, though it pained him to admit it. They were so close. _So close_. The shinigami and its thralls had something to do with Jack – of that, he was certain more than ever, now. No matter how terribly he wished to search for him, however, his bones felt like glass, his skin, thin as paper. Every step felt as though he were treading on coals. If they pressed onwards, now, Hanzo would be forced to look after him.

And if they _did_ find Jack, what then? The man would likely be injured, at best - and Jesse didn’t want to think of the alternative. During their escape, could Hanzo protect them both? Could the oni fight effectively, or would he quickly be overwhelmed? Jesse remembered what Hanzo had said regarding that topic: though demons rose from their ashes, falling apart into dust was so unpleasant that he had actually considered remaining in prison instead of risking it. 

…He couldn’t do that to him.

“Okay,” Jesse relented, motioning for Hanzo to step closer, “Let’s reverse that spell and get out this hellhole.”

Mirroring the original spell, Jesse placed his palm over Hanzo’s eyes, blinding him. They took a deep breath together, then another –

“ _Shimada Hanzo, I grant you your freedom. Your debt I forgive. My hands raised, I lift your spirit to the ether._ ” 

Perhaps the ancient spells were so insufferably corny because they were worthy of the pomp and circumstance. Jesse knew now, that such things as forging bonds and even breaking them were not to be taken lightly. 

It went on and on… an endless incantation. In a way, he wished that it would never end – that he and Hanzo could be tied by fate forever.

…But all good things came to a close.

Darkness condensed into writhing tendrils, weaving together to form hard, twisting muscle, enveloping him and turning him into a man-eater, fierce and imposing. He lost his beauty in an instant: his body tripling in size, until his shackles shattered and his clothing ripped apart. The scraps that remained barely covered him, revealing a scarred, blackened hide, rougher than sharkskin. Jagged bone jutted out from his body, hardening to form spines and fresh horns, glowing brighter than the sun. Even from such a distance, Jesse could feel the heat emanating forth from them. 

_His eyes glowed_.

When Hanzo slowly approached him, he couldn’t help but stumble back, instinctively reaching for the empty holster at his hip. Honey-brown eyes met milky white. Frozen in horror, Jesse pressed back against the bars. Though he knew, logically, that the monster before him was Hanzo, _his_ Hanzo, he couldn’t shake off a human’s natural fear of an unbound demon.

Despite the permanently wicked expression that his tusks bestowed upon him, his mouth, pulled into a scowl by default, Hanzo reflected the same, solemn dignity that he had as a human, letting out an airy, quiet little laugh, steam escaping between his fangs. 

“…You said that I was beautiful.”

He sounded like a monster. Otherworldly tones, grudge and hatred, echoed behind his voice, grating, _grinding_ like claw against steel. Instinctively, it disgusted him, sending shivers down his spine. Though he’d intended to respond, to reassure Hanzo that beauty came from within, his mind raced, too panicked to weave the words together.

That large, clawed hand reached for him, and he curled into himself, helpless and trembling, squeezing his eyes shut. He could hear his chains rattling, then snapping, as Hanzo bit through the metal, soon stomping away from him to break through their cage, as well.

“We should go,” he called from a distance. That horrible, monstrous voice, twisted his gut, sending hot, rancid bile rushing up his throat. 

“… _Jesse_ ,” he called once more.

“Y-Yeah. I hear you.” Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet. When he finally opened his eyes, he realized that Hanzo had already started digging through the crates in the corner of the room, in search of his confiscated weapons.

He should have helped. He should have done something, _anything_ , besides stand there, paralyzed. Over and over again, he ordered his feet to move, and yet a disconnect had formed between his brain and his body. 

When Hanzo found his weapons in a little cloth sack, he’d turned around with a smile – one that shattered, instantly, when he realized that Jesse hadn’t budged an inch. Hanzo’s abject disappointment wounded him more than his claws and fangs ever could. He didn’t even bother to enter the cage. Instead, taking Jesse’s feelings into consideration, the demon tossed the little sack through the bars and waited by the door.

Jesse glanced down at his weapons, then back to his companion, who had chosen to sit in perfect seiza, even as a demon. He looked so… _honorable_.

“…What are you doing?” Hanzo questioned, having caught him in the act of staring, “Hurry and gather your belongings, so that we may go.”

Jesse flinched, taken aback by the sheer anger in his tone. Overcome by anxiety, he stared down at that burlap sack, silent and motionless. 

“Despite what you may believe, my touch is not _infectious_ ,” Hanzo growled.

“I-I wasn’t thinkin’ that. I was just –”

…Perhaps it was better not to say anything at all. In quiet penitence, he swallowed down his fears and gathered up his weapons. From somewhere ahead of him, he could hear Hanzo stomping off into the tunnels. He jerked his head up, fearful of being left behind.

“Pumpkin?” he called into the void, “…Honey Cakes?”

Jesse was up in an instant, chasing after him. The warm glow of Hanzo’s horns served as the only light in the suffocating darkness.

“Sunshine -”

“Stop calling me that,” the demon snarled, turning to face him with a wicked slash of his claws, carving deep gashes into the tunnel’s stone walls. In a burst of terror, Jesse leapt back, shielding his torso with his metal arm.

Shaking his head, the demon turned away in _disgust_. 

“W-Wait!” Before he knew it, he’d latched onto Hanzo’s arm, scraping his hand against his rough skin. It actually _hurt_ : like tiny razors digging into his palm. Despite the pain, he doubled down, gripping tighter. “Please, I can explain.” 

“ _Release me_ ,” his oni commanded, as stern and dignified as ever – a stark contrast to Jesse’s wild panic. 

 

“Look, I’m sorry,” he was quick to add, “I’m sorry I was afraid of you. …That I _still am_ afraid of you. But in battle, us hunters have to react in a split second. Demons can take a couple hundred hits before they even start to feel it, but we ain’t like you. You claw us once, and that’s it. Lights out. Because of that, we’re trained to rely on instinct: anything that looks like a demon has gotta go.”

He trailed his hand down towards the spines on Hanzo’s knuckles and the claws jutting forth from his fingertips.

Gathering his courage, Jesse continued. “Since the day I was born, I was taught to be afraid of demons. It’s hard to get over that. I wish I could just let it go, but it ain’t that simple. Still, that doesn’t change the way I feel about you underneath it all. Even when you’re spiky, and nine feet tall, and eight hundred pounds… you’re still my sunshine.”

With his heart, pounding, he reached up and tucked the oni’s bangs behind his pointed ear. Though he shuddered when his hand brushed up against his tusk, he cupped Hanzo’s face regardless, stroking his thumb against his cheek.

He’d half expected Hanzo to bite his hand off as punishment for invading his privacy, but instead, his oni leaned into the touch, nuzzling him gently.

“…Nobody has ever spoken to me as fondly as you do,” the demon remarked with a toothy grin, his tusks, gleaming, “Not even my parents. Genji was always their favorite. He was a playful and affectionate son, while I was just ‘the heir.’ They called him ‘Sparrow’ – lovely and free. I never understood the appeal of diminutive names before, but… they feel rather intimate, do they not? I… find that I rather enjoy them it. I hope that you will never stop speaking to me with such affection.”

While Jesse wanted nothing more than to promise Hanzo that they would always be together, in truth, he didn’t know what the future had in store for them. Even if they rescued Jack, what would happen when they returned to Gibraltar? What would his team think? 

They couldn’t just release him. Honorable or not, Hanzo was still a demon.

Jesse’s fingers twitched. 

A fierce protectiveness sparked within him. Though he understood the risk of allowing a demon to walk free, imaging his oni in chains made his blood run cold. 

“Yeah. Me too,” he replied, without promising anything. Hanzo tilted his head, looking at him with a strange expression, sharp wise, as though sensing Jesse’s hesitancy and eager to deduce some hidden meaning from his words.

“…Perhaps we may speak of it further after we escape from this place,” he suggested, staring out into the tunnels. “Stay behind me, Jesse. Allow me to shield you from harm.”

“Then I’ll watch your back,” he agreed, with a determined nod.

Reunited in spirit for the time-being, man and demon ventured off into the darkness. Though he’d expected the worst, in truth, their journey was rather uneventful. With Hanzo’s magic sense, they were able to avoid the shinigami’s thralls, and soon enough, they arrived in an open room. Sunlight trickled through the cracks of the wooden door ahead of them, leading out into the forest.

“Holy shit, we actually made it,” Jesse cheered, shaking the demon’s arm in pure excitement, “Let’s get the hell out of here!”

Eager for that rush of fresh air and sunlight, Jesse ran towards the door - until Hanzo’s hand clamped down upon his shoulder, dragging him back. 

“Hey! What’s goin’ on?”

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Lowering his posture, the oni _snarled_.

“…What the hell?”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. A haze of black smoke, _bubbling_ , rose from the ground in front of them. 

“I sense powerful magic. Magic that you cannot repel. …While I distract the shinigami, I want you to run,” Hanzo commanded, bold and confident, “Get out of this forest.”

“ _And people say there’s no such thing as a noble demon_.”

Before either of them could make a move, the smoke itself coalesced, taking on the shape of a hooded figure, dark and imposing - though otherwise, entirely normal. It couldn’t have been any larger than Jesse, himself. The only thing that set the creature apart were its claws and face, sharp and angular, nothing but bone. 

Even so, it wasn’t particularly frightening – it was nothing compared to Hanzo, or even most of the other demons that Jesse had seen in his lifetime. In truth, Jesse found the infamous shinigami to be completely unremarkable… all except for its _voice_. 

Beneath that otherworldly growl, like grinding bones, he recognized it - 

“ _Reyes_?”

“…Jesse. Here I thought you’d forgotten all about me.” He couldn’t believe it. His mind went numb, unable to decide whether to shoot him or embrace him. By all means, student and mentor should have shared a touching reunion, but Reyes didn’t seem happy to see him at all. Instead, the man-turned-demon _hissed_ at him with such biting derision that Jesse’s confidence faltered. “Jack goes missing for a week, and you come running – but where was my rescue party when the Swiss branch went down?”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” Jesse whispered. If not for Hanzo, holding him back, he would have drawn closer. “We couldn’t rescue you; _you were already dead_. We found your body.”

“After a _week_ ,” Reyes corrected, “I was alive for three days, buried under the rubble. Did you know that? No food. No water. I thought it couldn’t get any worse than that.”

“We came as fast as we could,” Jesse explained, eager to defend his companions, “But a lot of people died in that mutiny you started. There was a lot of damage. Before we could even go in, we had to put out the fires and help the agents that had already escaped.”

Despite his excuses, he could hardly imagine it: Reyes, trapped and terrified, knowing full well that he was dying. The fear of rising up once more, not as himself, but in a _monster’s_ body. Endless hunger. Rage and despair. 

Jesse shook his head, silently pleading that it was all just a nightmare. Reyes hadn’t exactly been a Boy Scout, but he had joined Overwatch with good intentions. He didn’t deserve to die like that; he didn’t deserve to go on living as one of the creatures he’d tried so hard to fight against. 

“…We came as fast as we could.” 

“You mean you came for _Jack_. When I was trapped down there, I could hear you all running around above me. I could hear him talking. _Cursing_ me. Turning me into _this_!” Reyes scoffed, cruel and bitter. “Well, I’m sure he regrets that, now.”

That was practically a confession. As though a spark lit within him, Jesse sprung into action, drawing Peacekeeper and firing a warning shot that grazed his mentor’s hood, only for the cloth to stitch itself back together in seconds. 

“What did you do to Jack?”

It disgusted him. 

Reyes had something to do with Jack’s disappearance, and yet he didn’t regret a thing. Though Jesse hadn’t expected him to answer his question, never had he thought his mentor callous enough to laugh in the face of Jack’s misfortune. They had been like a family. All of them, _together_. Despite their arguments, despite their grudges, Jack and Reyes had been _so close_. 

“ _Damn it_ , Reyes! Where is he?” he fired again. This time, however, the newly formed demon simply vanished into thin air, before materializing back from nothingness. 

It wasn’t right… _It wasn’t right_!

Before Jesse could charge at him, Hanzo held him back, restraining him as he struggled and screamed.

“Aren’t you the one who talked down to _me_ about charging in blindly?” the shinigami mocked, “Where’s your team, Jesse? Where’s your backup? We’ve been talking for a while, and no one else has barged in here. Don’t tell me this demon is the only one who came here with you?”

“Shit…”

Reyes knew they were outnumbered, then. For the first time since their arrival, Jesse truly began to consider the benefits of fleeing from the forest to see another day. 

“He is, isn’t he? Oh, that’s cute,” he laughed, circling around them like a bird of prey, “Whatever happened to your ‘justice,’ Jesse? Always talking shit about how you’d slaughter every demon out there. ‘Revenge for your family.’ For your sister, missing her legs, and for your dad, with his guts hanging out.”

“…Shut up.”

“For your mom, drowning herself in her bathtub.”

“Shut up.”

“What would they think of you, now? You think they’d be proud? You think _Jack_ would be proud, seein’ you runnin’ around with some demon?”

“ _Shut up_!”

He emptied out the rest of his rounds, _direct shots_ , but they only went right through him. Time froze to a standstill as the images flooded his brain: the blood, the funeral, his mother’s corpse. _Cold and pale her eyes wide open_ -

Breathing hard, his ears, ringing, it took a moment for Jesse to realize that Reyes was talking again – though not to _him_.

“…That’s what he thinks about you,” the shinigami mumbled, his voice, soft – like the way he used to speak to Jack, when he believed that no one was around to listen, “He’s _ashamed_ of you. Maybe things were okay for a while, but when push comes to shove, do you really think he’d choose you over his team? Over _humanity_? You’re a smart oni; I remember you from Switzerland. Four-hundred years old or so, right? Someone your age should realize that humans don’t change that easily. He’s a hunter. One with a grudge. …What do you think is going to happen to you at the end of all of this?”

Jesse glanced at his companion from the corner of his eyes – at the way he stared, mesmerized by Reyes’s words. Still, shell-shocked, he couldn’t bring himself to speak. 

“I’ll tell you what’ll happen: as a ‘reward’ for saving one of their own, Overwatch’ll throw _right back_ into your little cage. Into that cold, dark hole, all over again,” Reyes continued in that persuasive tone, all feigned outraged, “You really think they’d appreciate everything you’ve done for them? You think _Jesse_ appreciates it? That he’d protect you? You think he’d give up everything he has, everything he _is_ , for a demon?”

“Jesse would never allow me to be imprisoned again. We are –”

“What. Friends? Partners? Oh, that’s what you _think_ , but he’ll stab you in the back, just like Jack did to me. …That’s just what Overwatch does to people.”

Slowly, Hanzo turned to him - for the first time, with suspicion in his gaze instead of outward trust. 

“Tell him, Jesse,” he began, his voice, low and calm, “What is going to happen to me after we rescue your mentor?”

“I… We’ll –”

“Will you return to Overwatch?”

Jesse had begun to answer him in weak, half-hearted tones, stumbling, though Reyes’s voice boomed over him, drowning it out. 

“Of course he will! You think he’d go through all this trouble for Jack, for _Overwatch_ , just to throw it all away?”

“Yeah, I’d go back,” Jesse finally managed to explain, “But I wouldn’t let anything happen to you! I mean, I’d have to ask the others -” he began, answering truthfully - though perhaps not wisely, “But I’d put in a good word for you. I’d convince them; I’m sure they’d listen. I know you don’t trust them, but they’re a good team. They’re good people. I’m sure they’d see reason if we just gave ‘em a chance.”

“Oh, ’give them a chance,’” Reyes echoed, “Right. What’s the worst that could happen? The only reason you’re saying that, Jesse, is because you don’t have anything to lose! But demons live forever. Oni, are you really going to risk your freedom for someone who isn’t even going to fight for you?!”

Hanzo didn’t answer - and neither did Jesse, shocked at the realization that he was losing him. Reyes’s mind games were actually _working_. 

Were their bonds that weak? Or was it just Jesse, himself? 

Unable to commit. Unable to put past prejudices aside. Unable to fight for what he truly believed in. Now, because of it, Hanzo no longer trusted him.

When Reyes next spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “And Overwatch thinks _we’re_ the monsters. He’s using you - just like Jack used me. Leaving me to do all his dirty work while he sat up on his high horse, soaking up the fame and glory. I thought we were close, too, but when it was either me or ‘the team,’ who do you think he chose? Don’t be stupid, Oni. Don’t play their games. You’d be better off with your own kind: someone who understands how it feels to _starve_ like you do.”

Reyes curled his fingers, and the door squeaked open, revealing Kanako - her eyes, dead. She commented on neither Hanzo’s appearance nor the fact that she was slowly, steadily, walking right into a shinigami’s grasp. 

Reyes held her close, stroking his clawed fingers through her hair.

“…Using hostages?” That was low, even for Reyes. “You son of a bitch! Let her go!” Jesse commanded, though just as always, just like when they were in Blackwatch together, his anger could never deter Reyes.

“Not hostages,” the shinigami corrected, “More like… _incentive_.” 

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“You understand - don’t you, Oni? You’re a demon. A monster. Nobody’s ever going to give a damn about you - so you might as well take care of yourself.”

Jesse _screamed_. Reyes dragged his claw across the girl’s throat, sending blood spurting, _flooding_ down her neck in a deluge. Though she had seemed so full of life only hours ago, Kanako never once cried. She never screamed. 

She just stood there, accepting of her fate.

“Enjoy it,” Reyes encouraged, shoving the girl into Hanzo’s arms, “It’s the only pleasure you’ll ever get out of this life.”

As if by instinct alone, Hanzo didn’t even hesitate before snapping his jaws over the wound, drinking her blood like wine.

 _He shuddered_. …Though it broke his heart, and his mind, and his soul to do it, trembling, Jesse aimed his revolver at Hanzo’s skull. 

“Let her go.” His aim faltered, and his vision blurred. “Damn it, Han - _let her go!_ ”

Much to his surprise, the oni, _his_ oni, actually obeyed. Slowly drawing away from his source of hot, gushing blood, holding Kanako at an arm’s length, he silently stared back at Jesse, eyes wide and unblinking.

“Are you going to shoot me?” Hanzo asked, as the blood dripped from his lips. 

Jesse’s throat tightened. 

“…I love you. Did you know that?” he confessed at last, smiling, as the tears streamed down his cheeks. He tried to convince himself that it was only a reflex. Just a natural response to the stress and the panic. “I love you so much it hurts. …But love doesn’t mean that I have to let everything slide. What you’re doin’ is _wrong_ … and I’ll shoot if I have to. It’ll kill me to do it, but I will. Don’t make me shoot; don’t you do that to me.” 

“You are going to allow your guild to imprison me.”

“Maybe. I’m not like Reyes: I ain’t gonna lie to you. I can’t promise that you’ll still have your freedom when we go back to Gibraltar – but I’ll always be there for you. If you have to go back to the dungeon, I’ll visit every single day. I’ll bring you blood, and we can talk, and –”

“If our positions were switched,” Hanzo began, finally losing his composure, “If I were the hunter and you, the demon… I would have sacrificed _everything_ for you.”

He’d never seen such humanity in a demon before. Hanzo’s grief, his betrayal: they shattered him, making his knees go weak. Despite his instinctive desire to argue, Jesse knew that his oni was right. What he had described just moments ago wasn’t love. It was just a compromise. Petty platitudes. He was eloquent only in bars and strip clubs. Persuasive, only when worming his way out of cleaning duty and escort missions. But when it mattered most, words always, _always_ failed him.

Instead of letting Kanako go, Hanzo snapped his fangs around her wound and tore out her throat.


	7. Chapter 7

“Where do you think it all goes?”

Ignoring the shinigami’s question, Hanzo cradled his victim’s liver between his jaws and _tugged_ , snapping the veins like little wires. The man beneath him whimpered and moaned, exhausted from the hours of pain and torment that Hanzo had inflicted upon him. It went on, and on, and on. Where once, the man had fought with all his might, now, all he could do was slap weakly at the demon’s shoulders in a hopeless attempt at pushing him away.

“There should be a point where you can’t cram anymore food into you, but you’re never satisfied, are you? It’s never enough.”

Those meaningless words flitted in one ear only to exit right out the other. Lost in a sweet, languid fog, Hanzo cast a dismissive glance at his companion that lasted only a moment before he lost interest in him altogether. The shinigami could only hold his attention for so long during mealtime. Hell, a bomb could go off right next to them, and Hanzo wouldn’t even bat an eye. Soon enough, he was face down against his prey’s open belly all over again.

Feeding endlessly, his horns grew tall, fueled by blood. Proud, twisted spires of shimmering gold, reaching ever up towards the heavens, spitting in the face of God. He didn’t give a damn about anything, anymore. Not about humanity, not about his brother – 

He’d even forgotten about _Jesse_.

He was so focused on his own needs that not a second could be spared for anyone else’s. 

Life was good – or at the very least, it was as good as it could be, for a demon. Where he had once starved and yearned for hundreds of years, Hanzo never went longer than a day without food, now that he and the shinigami who called himself “Reaper” had begun coordinating their efforts. Reaper drew innocent souls into the forest and enraptured them to do his bidding, while Hanzo patrolled the perimeter, ensuring that the local hunters never drew close enough to discover the horrors that lay in the darkness. 

Reaper herded the sheep, and Hanzo kept the wolves at bay. 

It was a rather pleasant partnership. Even if they didn’t trust each other to use their true names, demons didn’t require a bond of friendship to cooperate with one another. They didn’t require loyalty or love. They joined together out of convenience and tolerated their differences only due to the fact that, beneath their personal morals and belief systems, they were one and the same: _damned_.

When the human squirming beneath him tugged at his ponytail, growing irritated, Hanzo dashed his skull against the wall, splattering it between his palm and the cold, hard stone and finally putting the man out of his misery. It was a morbid sight, and yet it earned an amused little laugh from the demon beside him, all the same.

“I don’t know why you always insist on hunting for your own food instead of just taking one of the thralls. Cattle don’t fight back.”

Of course he didn’t understand. Shinigami were, by their nature, prone to trickery, while oni were simple predators who enjoyed the thrill of the hunt. Hanzo wanted his prey to be free from the realm of Reaper’s influence, to have a chance at victory, if only they could slay him. 

It was _fun_. It made him feel alive again, instead of like a dead man walking. Was that so bad? Was that so wrong? When he had suffered in the shadows for so many years, he was _owed_ a little time in the sun. 

But Hanzo knew that his companion would never understand. “It makes me feel powerful. There is no challenge, no _honor_ , in preying upon those who cannot defend themselves.”

Reaper shrugged, as casual as ever, before lying back in their shared nest of stolen blankets. “It’s always ‘honor’ this and ‘honor’ that, with you. For the last time, you don’t have anything left to prove. The sooner you get over yourself, the sooner you can stop feeling guilty over nothing and start thinking about the future.”

There he went again, with his crazy talk. As far as Hanzo was concerned, there was no absolution for demonkind, but Reaper was young – only fifty-eight years old and freshly turned. He still thought their “condition” reversible.

He still had hope.

Losing interest, Hanzo scoffed and returned to the remnants of his meal. “Do you earnestly believe that your former partner can cure us?”

“You don’t know Jack. He’s a clever son of a bitch. The two of us were part of an experimental military program back in the US: endurance training, tactics, that kind of thing. It was tough enough as it was, but Jack went the extra mile. First one to wake up, last one to go to sleep at night. He had to push himself, to get chosen to lead Overwatch’s European branch. There isn’t a better demonologist in the world. If anyone knew a spell that could turn someone into a demon – and turn someone back – it’d be him.”

Reaper let out a quiet hum, as though unable to decide for himself whether he admired or loathed the man. Or perhaps whether it was possible to do both, all at once. “Let me ask you a question: why do you think people turn into demons in the first place?” Before Hanzo could so much as answer, however, the shinigami continued, “Because they’re ‘evil?’ I bet that’s what most demons think, at first; I even thought that was a possibility, early on. But if that was really the case, this planet would be _crawling_ with us demons. Wouldn’t it? There’s gotta be something else involved. If you ask me, it’s a curse. I think every demon that ever existed had someone in their lives who hated them so much they damned their spirits to this… _living hell_.”

“A curse…” Loath as Hanzo was to admit it, perhaps his companion had a point. If all blackhearted men turned into demons, then where were the warlords? Where were all of the world’s most violent criminals? 

Being “evil” likely wasn’t enough, but perhaps Genji had hated him so much that with his dying breath, his own little brother had cursed him to walk the earth, trapped between the planes of life and death, for the rest of eternity. Hanzo closed his eyes, pondering the details. Despite his cruel fate and all of his suffering, as strange as it was, the realization of Genji’s possible involvement didn’t anger him. Considering what he had done in the name of nothing more than duty, perhaps it was only just that his brother’s grudge should burn until the end of time itself. 

Noticing his silence, Reaper stared at him, shrewd and cunning. “You have someone who hated you, too. Didn’t you?”

“Perhaps I did.”

“Well, there you go. I’ve only spoken to a couple other demons before you, but they all have similar stories. If it really is a curse, that’s a good sign, though; every spell can be reversed. If we can figure out how Jack managed to turn me into a demon, then maybe… Hell, I don’t know –” Reaper sighed, showing his first ever sign of weakness or even a glimpse of uncertainty, “Maybe we won’t come back to life. Maybe we’ll never even make it into Heaven, if it actually exists. Maybe it’s just lights out from here, but at the very least, we won’t have to spend eternity living like this. Starving. Wanting. Always feeling like… you’re missing something. Searching and searching, knowing you’ll never find it. …It’s _bullshit_.”

As cynical as he was, the determination in Reaper’s voice somehow sparked something inside of _Hanzo_ as well. He’d long ago accepted his state of “undeath” as permanent, but Reaper, for once, made him doubt. 

“I had prayed for death to take me for many long years,” Hanzo confessed, “Though I wonder, now, if the gods ever existed in the first place.”

“I get you. Any ‘father’ that could end up abandoning his own children like this would be one sick fuck. Everybody knows that demons exist, and that Hell is what we make of it, but I’m starting to think that the heavens are empty.” As distant and abrasive as they were, at least the two demons still could bond over something as simple as a fear of abandonment. Somewhere beneath that ivory skull, Hanzo could feel that Reaper was smiling. “Don’t worry – I have a feeling I’m right about this. Soon enough, we’ll be able to put this life behind us.”

Though by all means, he should have feared the concept of death, Hanzo found comfort in Reaper’s promise. Even if nothing but the void awaited him after death, it couldn’t be worse than his current reality. 

The _slap_ of a towel against his face startled him out of his thoughts and back into the present. 

“Come on, clean yourself up,” Reaper chuckled, “I think it’s about time that the two of us paid Jack a visit. _Together_.”

It was the latest “visit” out of many, according to Reaper. Session after session of cruel interrogation - torture and bloodletting. 

As they made their way through the winding tunnels, the shinigami explained everything that had already occurred between them: explaining all of his failed attempts at coercion. Even when Reaper stuck pins beneath his toenails, the man called “Jack” insisted that he knew nothing of any spell. Even when Reaper had begun to pull his toenails off, the man didn’t budge. 

…Even when had moved on to his teeth.

“We should try a different approach,” Reaper considered, “I’ll do what I always do, but this time, you’ll be there to play the good cop. Pretend to be on his side when things start getting ugly; it’ll throw him off guard.”

“Why do you bother with such trickery?” Hanzo finally asked, perplexed. He blocked the shinigami’s path, cutting him off from the narrow tunnels. “Hunters are immune to your magic due to a rune tattooed onto their bodies, correct? Why do you not remove it? You would already have your answers.”

“Do you really think I’m so stupid that I wouldn’t have done that already, if it was possible? Turning someone into a thrall isn’t mind-control. It’s a mind _wipe_. I’m not locking away their subconsciousness; I’m getting rid of it. Do you understand? None of the humans in this ‘village’ even remember their names. Anything in a person’s past, anything that makes them human, is gone after I take over. Jack would forget everything if I pulled a stunt like that.”

For just a moment, Reaper’s posture softened - his shoulders, slumping down, as he folded his arms together. He looked smaller, in a way. Vulnerable.

“It isn’t like I get a kick out of this,” the shinigami mumbled, “Torture was a last resort. Jack was… Well, I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.” With a parting scoff, Reaper shoved right past him, leading the way further into the caves, down into the makeshift dungeons where he had imprisoned his former partner. 

Chained to the wall in the very same adamantium bindings that had once held the demons he hunted, Jack Morrison slumped forward, barely conscious. From Jesse’s description of him, Hanzo had expected a strapping, experienced warrior, tall and proud. Instead, what he found, waiting for him in those dungeons, was a wizened old man who stank of blood and urine.

The flesh around his wrists had pulled away, their blood supply, drained from his shackles. The skin had chafed from friction, revealing fetid, rotting flesh that oozed puss down the metal. His chains were the only things that kept him standing.

Though Hanzo’s heart had grown hard during his time in Reaper’s company, a jolt of fear sent it racing. He couldn’t help but wonder, in the back of his mind: _what if the same fate had befallen Jesse_?

The one and only time he’d bothered to visit the man had been weeks ago, maybe even months, considering the fact that neither he nor Reaper tracked the time. During their meeting, Jesse had cursed at him, shaming him for the length and the beauty of his horns, which could shine with such brilliance only when nourished by human flesh. He’d stood in silence, allowing the hunter to berate him. In some way, Hanzo felt as though he’d deserved it. Of course he did, when after he’d shouted his throat raw, after he’d let out all of his anger, Jesse was left with nothing but fear. He’d broken down and wept, weakly sobbing, as he huddled in the corner of his cage.

Out of a sickening combination of shame and dread, Hanzo didn’t visit him again. Even when every passing thought somehow made its way back to Jesse. After a time, he’d even stopped asking after him; he was so numb. But seeing Jack, a great and courageous man, broken down and beaten, had reminded him of the fact that hunters were mortal.

A human life was nothing more than a blink in time, a single drop in all the world’s oceans. They were so short-lived. So insignificant. The probability of Jesse’s life coinciding with Hanzo’s, right when he needed him, was less than one in a billion. Hanzo couldn’t help but wonder: if the coincidental overlap between their lives was such a rare and fleeting miracle, was _this_ what he truly wished to make of it?

Before the other demon could so much as touch his former partner, Hanzo grabbed onto his black-cloaked shoulder, turning him around until their eyes met. 

“Where is Jesse?” he demanded, for the first time in what must have been weeks, “Is he injured?”

“It’s a little late to be asking about that, isn’t it?” Reaper retorted, cutting into him deeper than his claws ever could. “If you actually bothered to come to these interrogations before now, you would’ve been able to see him.”

“You have been bringing him here?” Hanzo asked, with horror setting into his voice, “But Jesse knows nothing! He can barely cast even the simplest of spells! What use is he to you?” He hadn’t realized that he’d been shouting until both Reaper and Jack were staring him down: one, amused at his boldness, and the other, likely shocked by the sincerity in his tone. Shocked by the emotion in the voice of a creature that supposedly lacked the ability to feel anything at all.

Reaper’s shoulders shook, just a slight tremble at first, until it was clear that he was _laughing_. Laughing at _him_. A quiet, throaty creak that grew steadily in intensity until it seemed to shake the very cave, itself, dying down in a quiet, pensive little sigh. 

“Getting all worked up over a human who stabbed you in the back. You know, I really thought you were above this, Oni.” He shook his head – a simple gesture made complex only by the clear mockery behind it. “…You want to fuck Jesse, don’t you?”

Though his body no longer needed oxygen, his breathing quickened, his lifeless pulse, thundering in his chest. It was only a reflex. He couldn’t refute Reaper’s claims. What was the point, when he’d already been laid bare for all to see? When he could no longer resist? 

When he no longer _desired_ to resist?

“Hell, I’m not judging you,” Reaper laughed, brushing the oni’s hands away, “Why do we still have cocks if we aren’t meant to use them? Maybe Jesse would never bend over for you, now, but I’ll tell you what: when all of this is said and done, I’ll wipe his mind just for you. Turn him into a thrall. You can fuck him as hard as you want.”

Even knowing how wrong it was, Hanzo couldn’t help but consider it –

“…Would he love me?”

“Does it matter?” Reaper asked, exasperated, “He’ll _act_ like he does. I can make sure of that.” 

Disgusted, Hanzo didn’t bother to stay as Reaper began sifting through his box of torture devices – his pliers and his rusted little knives. He stalked towards the door, keeping to the shadows. Only Reaper’s voice, cold and bitter, earned one last moment of his time – that, and the quiet rattling of Jack’s chains as he teetered on the brink of unconsciousness.

“Give it some thought,” the shinigami advised, his voice, barely rising above a whisper, “I know it’s not what you really want, but that’s as good as it’s ever going to get. Demons like us will never have the real thing, so you might as well start learning how to make the best of it.”

For some reason that Hanzo couldn’t discern, Jack forced himself to stand on his own two feet despite the obvious pain in his legs. “The hell’re you talking about?” the old soldier slurred, with blood, dripping down his swollen lip, “Gabe –”

“…Don’t call me that.”

Though he knew little of Reaper’s past and even less of his history with Jack Morrison, even Hanzo, as naïve as he was in personal affairs, could feel the growing tension between man and demon. “Would you like a moment to yourselves?” he asked, casting a careful glance at his companion, whose stoicism was noticeably wavering, “I do not yet understand the full extent of what has occurred between the two of you, but -”

“Stay. There’s nothing left to say between us.” 

“It’s been over a decade,” Jack retorted. Hanzo couldn’t tell whether the old human’s tone was that of sorrow, humor, or simple exhaustion. “You really don’t have anything to say to me after all that time?” 

The shinigami tilted his head. A little _crack_ in the porcelain. “You got through those years just fine the way I see it, Jack.” 

“And what in hell gives you the right to say that?” the soldier snapped, his chains, clattering as he jolted forward. Soon enough, however, with the anger leaving his body just as quickly as it had set in, he lost his resolve, closing his eyes with a cold sense of finality. Every breath was a struggle. His ribcage heaved, broken bones clattering, as he struggled to piece his words together. “…You weren’t the one left behind. It didn’t fall to you to pick up the pieces. Even though I know you want me to, I don’t blame myself for what happened to the Swiss branch, but dealing with the fallout – it was… _It was hard_. Even if I had Jesse, and Ana, and everyone else to help me, in some way, I was still stuck doing it alone. Are you honestly holding it against me because I tried to move on?”

“Because you _did_ move on - because you _could_.”

“Then if I was the one who’d died, you would’ve dropped down, _dead_ , right next to me. Is that right?” he retorted in sheer disbelief, though when Reaper didn’t take the bait, when he didn’t so much as raise his voice in anger, Jack’s incredulity morphed into dread.

“If you were the one who died that day, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything: not eat, not sleep, not… ‘ _pick up the pieces_.’ I would’ve let it all come crashing down – because Jesse, and Ana, and ‘everyone else’ don’t matter to me. You had your fame and your honor. Even at our lowest point, everybody trusted you with their lives. You had so much to live for. So much going on. But don’t you get it? …All I ever had, Jack, was you.”

Reaper must have noticed the pain bleeding into his tone, for soon enough, with a tired shake of his head, he set down his toolkit and stalked towards the door. He paused for a moment, as though daring to turn back – though the only one that he addressed was Hanzo.

“I’ll be back in a minute. Take over until then.” 

No apology and no explanation: it was just like him. Though in any other situation, Hanzo would have put up a protest, he allowed Reaper to flee with the remnants of his dignity, to lick his wounds in privacy.

Only after he had left did Jack dare to speak again. “You’re _Jesse’s demon_ , right?” Jack greeted with forced cheer though good intentions, “He said a lot about you.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“Once or twice. When I couldn’t give Gabe the answers he wanted, even after he started… hurting me, he brought Jesse to these interrogations. As though torturing him could somehow guilt me into giving up information I don’t have.”

“Then, is he…”

“Don’t worry - he’s fine. And he’s missing _you_ , of all people. You should hear the way he talks about you. Like you’re the best damn thing that’s happened to him since Taco Tuesday.”

The old man shook his head, lost in thought. Somehow, though he was bound and helpless, trapped in a room with a demon, Jack didn’t appear distressed in the slightest. He spoke to him with gentle familiarity, as if he’d come to know Hanzo himself, through Jesse’s stories – whatever the man had said about him.

“You address me with such familiarity. Are you not afraid?” Hanzo asked, drawing closer, until he could see the whites of the soldier’s eyes.

“Of a demon that Jesse calls ‘Honeycakes?’ I don’t think so.”

If he were still human, his face would have turned beet red. Instead, he only grunted, smoke escaping from his nostrils. 

Jack chuckled softly, slumping against the wall as comfortably as he could. “I know Jesse isn’t always the smartest guy in the room, but he’s a good man and a good judge of character. If he trusts you, then that’s good enough for me. He told me everything: about how you argued, and how you ended up with Gabe. To be honest, I don’t think ogres are particularly moral, even for demons, but for some reason, Jesse still has hope for you. I told him not to get his hopes up, but he still thinks you’re going to bust us all out of this place.”

“Does he?” Hanzo questioned with a healthy dose of skepticism, “I was under the impression that he felt betrayed.”

“Don’t get me wrong – he’s pissed,” Jack clarified, “And he’s disappointed in you. But you’re all he ever talks about. He’ll be cursing your name one minute and praying for your safety the next. …It’s funny: you can think the world of someone and still want to kick their ass.”

He had the strangest feeling that the old man was speaking from experience. Though Hanzo was more than five times his senior, he had little experience with the normalcies of life. He’d never taken a lover. He’d never pined for anyone. 

Perhaps it would do him well to take advice from a veteran.

“Would that summarize the sentiment that you feel towards Reaper? The complexity of caring for someone and cursing them all the same?”

The man took a moment to catch his breath as he struggled to remain dignified in the face of emotional turmoil. “Yeah. I guess it does. It makes me sick to think about what he’s doing to the people here, but at the same time, I’m just glad to know he’s still alive. I shouldn’t be, but I am. Hating someone and loving them… the kind of bond that can survive that comes along only once, maybe twice in a lifetime. Don’t throw it away.”

Reaper’s approaching footsteps cut their conversation short, though before Hanzo could leave, entrusting the room and its prisoner to his companion, Jack shot him a wizened expression, patient and wise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience regarding this latest chapter update! I am currently on rotations, so updates may be a little more delayed than usual. I will, however, try to update at least once a month - and hopefully more frequently than that!
> 
> I appreciate your understanding, and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. Please feel free to let me know how you think the story is progressing! Plot-wise, Nocturne is a little more complex than the other stories that I have written, so I am eager to know what you think of it!


	8. Chapter 8

Bare feet trampling over stones and branches, he raced through the forest, tearing at vines to clear a path. Piercing white eyes saw straight through the darkness. Though he could sense Reaper’s thralls in search of him, they would never be able to catch him, now. The bundle in his arms stirred slightly. Quietly, he hushed it, though he knew that his demonic voice would give no comfort, echoing through the hot summer air like a death rattle.

He ran for hours: climbing over the forest gate, unbothered by the barbwire. Running through empty roads, devoid of life. Jesse had told him once that nobody ventured outside of their settlements past the government-imposed curfews in fear of what lay in the darkness.

Human settlements were well guarded, more so now than in the fading memories of sleepy little villages and dirt roads that still resided in Hanzo’s memory. It was a simpler time: the days before towering ziggurats and metal carriages that ran almost faster than he did, even with no oxen to pull them. 

In truth, the change terrified him. He missed the summers in Uji, pulling up his yukata and wading through the rice paddies. He missed cherry blossoms and rolling fields, sprawling over the horizon, farther than the eye could see, uninterrupted by the altering touch of humanity.

The world was so unwelcoming, now. Hard and cold, stone and metal. Where samurai had once wielded sword and wakizashi, now even ordinary peasant guards carried hand cannons loaded with demon-bone ammunition, capable of piercing through his thick, ogre’s flesh.

And it was those very guns that pointed towards him the moment he set foot onto human territory. Little glowing dots, bright red, trained on his body. 

The humans standing at the gate shot him on sight. They didn’t even hesitate.

He shielded his bundle with his own body and pushed forward through the assault. Where black blood fell, the grass below began to wither. He was life’s antithesis. War and famine. He tucked his bundle tight against his chest and prayed that none of his toxic blood would spill onto the dirty blankets.

They shot him again and again, bullets lodging in his flesh then falling to the ground, one after the other, as his skin healed in seconds, pushing them out. Sooner or later, however, even he would be unable to recover from such an onslaught.

Ordinarily, he would have killed them all in moments, but with his bundle in hand, he simply couldn’t take the risk. He walked slowly, protecting that which was most precious to him.

He wondered if Jesse would approve, knowing that he stayed his hand.

A bullet tore through his leg, and he stumbled, falling onto his side to ensure that his bundle wasn’t crushed beneath his weight. 

“ _Hold your fire_!” a human shouted, before the group of them came racing towards him, footsteps on the concrete. Blood trickled down from the wound on his forehead, blinding him.

He heard the distinctive _click_ of their guns loading and the cool press of the barrel against his temple. 

___________________________________________

Warm sunlight trickled through the windows. 

Jesse blinked wearily awake, looking up at the gentle lights and the slow turn of the ceiling fan. Dust danced in the corners of his vision, and with a weary sigh, he pulled the blankets further over his aching body. 

Only after he noticed the IV in his arm did he fully awaken.

Jesse shot up in bed, gasping for breath. The heartrate monitor burst to life in a cacophony of sound and color. World spinning, dazed and confused, he glanced around the room, struggling to come to terms with his new reality.

 _Was it all just a dream_? 

Even when knew it was impossible, even with his memories, fresh, and clear, and sharp, still bounding in his mind, he couldn’t help but question their reliability. 

In what seemed like an instant, he’d gone from fearing for his life to simply… _existing_. Unlike the prison cell of his nightmares, damp and perpetually cold, his hospital room was perfectly warm. The soft bed felt like something out of a fever dream. He bit his cheek and drew blood just to ensure that it wasn’t all just an imagined escape - another figment of his imagination.

He didn’t want to wake up two minutes later in the same cell, worse for wear.

But when he looked at his hands, he realized that some of his fingernails, which Reyes had pulled out, had begun to grow back.

“McCree-san?” a voice called from the sliding door in heavily accented English, “May I come in?”

“Y-Yeah,” he stuttered, still in shock.

The nurse smiled, taking a seat by his bedside. 

“I’m glad you’re awake! You were asleep for almost a week. You were very dehydrated.”

“Was I?” He leaned back into the pillows, letting them engulf his head in a cloud of white. He closed his eyes and tried to sift through his thoughts: his suffering and his unexplained rescue. Was he truly in a hospital, or was this just another trick? He’d grown so cynical, as of late.

“Hold up,” Jesse continued, feeling his heart sink down into the pit of his stomach, “… _How did you know my name_? What the hell’s goin’ on?”

Thoughts of Kanako raced through his mind – memories of the priest, and the village, and how it all seemed so _real_. 

If he focused his vision and concentrated, then it almost seemed as though the wallpaper’s floral patterns could move on their own. He tried to discern some meaning from the tendrils.

Was it a shinigami’s magic? 

A trick of the light?

The heartrate monitor blared again, and his eardrums burned. He slapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.

“It’s okay,” the young nurse shushed, “Everything is okay. You’re safe here – you’re with allies. Friends.” She flashed him the badge attached to her scrubs, bearing the official seal of an Overwatch medic. “The hunters who rescued you found your Overwatch ID and brought you here to our base. It’s not as grand as the main branch in Tokyo, but our clinic is still well-stocked. You’re in good hands. Don’t worry.”

To her credit, the nurse didn’t pull away when he grabbed at her badge, pulling it up to his face for a closer inspection. Everything matched up: the design, the barcodes, the numbers. He let out a deep, weary breath, never before so relieved to see a friendly face. 

“Is Jack here, too?”

“Jack?” 

“My commander. That shinigami really did a number on me, but Jack’s got it worse. Did you manage to find him? Is he -”

“McCree-san,” the nurse interrupted, with clear concern in her expression, “You were the only agent we recovered… and there was no shinigami.”

“What? What, no! That’s impossible! It couldn’t have been a trick. We have to go back there! Jack’s still there! He’s there with Reyes, and -”

“Everything is okay,” the nurse reassured him again, with an infuriating, gentle pat on the shoulder, “You were dehydrated. _Confused_. Maybe you hit your head. There was no shinigami.” 

“Yes there was! If you go back to that village, you’ll realize I’m right!”

“There was no village,” the nurse sighed with clear sympathy, “And there was no shinigami. The demon that captured you, McCree-san, was an _oni_. We defeated it right outside the gate.” 

Jesse froze. His breath hitched in his throat; he couldn’t breathe. As the nurse went on – and on and _on_ \- Jesse’s dumbstruck expression morphed into a cold and quiet horror, unrelenting.

“That doesn’t make sense. How did… How did I get there? What happened?”

“I wasn’t there on the battlefield, but I heard the gunshots and saw it from the window. The demon that captured you was an oni with black skin and white eyes. So brazen… That brainless ogre walked right up to the gate. All muscle and no mind,” she laughed with a cheerful, reassuring smile that chilled him to the bone, “Our hunters made quick work of it. The strange thing is, however, that when they started gathering up its ashes, they found _you_ underneath them, wrapped up in a tarp. It must have brought you here from its cave.”

“Why?” he asked, more to Hanzo than to the woman before him. “Why would he do something like that?”

“Nobody knows,” she shrugged, “Nobody _can_. It’s a demon. Logic doesn’t apply to them. They’re incapable of thought. Maybe it just wanted more meat. Who knows.”

Oh, but Jesse knew.

_It must have carried you over here from its cave._

The words echoed.

Though, after Reyes’s interrogation sessions, he had always insisted to Jack that Hanzo would come to their rescue, in truth, his enthusiasm had been waning, as of late. He’d actually begun to lose hope. The more time passed, the more he doubted Hanzo’s intentions. His _humanity_. He’d see him sometimes, in the tunnels: glowing horns that grew longer by the day. Muscles that always grew larger. He was eating well – that much was certain. 

In the darkness and solitude of his cage, with nothing but time and his own hurt, it was so easy for him to lose himself to his poisonous thoughts: that Hanzo would never forgive him. That he’d forgotten about him. That the time they’d spent together meant nothing. 

Now that Hanzo remembered the taste of human flesh, Jesse couldn’t help but wonder if the demon had thrown away his very last shreds of humanity.

He shouldn’t have doubted.

_It must have carried you over here from its cave._

Slowly, he began to put the pieces together: the hunters didn’t rescue him – _Hanzo_ did.

Even while knowing all that he would lose, Hanzo broke him out of his cage and carried him through winding tunnels and dark forests, across miles of open road, to bring him back to the place where he belonged. Back to human civilization. 

Overwatch. 

He walked right into the hornet’s nest, knowing the terrible fate that would befall him. 

Eternity locked away in darkness, to bring Jesse back into the light. 

He did that for him. He gave up a veritable demon’s paradise for _him_.

Hanzo was right all along – just as he always was, with all his years of wisdom. Love wasn’t something conditional. At its core, it was pure and selfless. Love was the ability to place another person even above oneself. Love meant _sacrifice_.

Jesse tightened his fists against the bedding, until his open nailbeds bled. 

“Where is he?” Jesse asked, staring up at her, frozen, “Where’s Han – I mean… _the oni_. Where’s the oni?”

The nurse tensed up, her back going rigid. “What do you want with it?” she practically interrogated.

“I’ve been through a lot,” he whispered, “Things I wouldn’t wish on someone I hated. I want… I _need_ to see the ashes. To put this all behind me. I need to make sure it’s dead – or as dead as it can get.” 

She took a moment to ponder his words before her expression softened. Even still, she regarded him with clear suspicion, as though searching his posture and expression for any sign of deception. 

“Go down to the basement,” she finally answered with a relenting sigh, “The oni’s ashes are being stored inside of an urn until it can be transferred to the Tokyo branch. As your nurse, I have to recommend that you stay in bed and rest, but… I understand how you feel. Seeing is believing. When they caught the demon that killed my brother, they let me deal the final blow. But I shot that thing again and again, just to make sure it wouldn’t get back up. I needed to. If you think that you can make it down to the basement on your own, and if you think that this will bring you peace, then take as long as you need.”

The nurse was efficient; she’d cleaned him up and removed his IV and catheter in under an hour, and yet to Jesse, it felt as though a thousand years had passed. Every second he spent languishing in that bed was a chance that Hanzo’s urn would be transported to Tokyo, never to be seen again. 

His joints felt like glass. Every step, pure agony, as he forced himself to lumber through hallway after hallway, down stone steps and warded gates. Even his clothing felt cumbersome, now, weighing him down like lead. Something as light as his empty backpack threatened to throw him off-balance as he stumbled down the basement steps.

Hanzo’s urn sat on a dusty shelf in complete darkness, unguarded and unwatched. Such a small, side branch of Overwatch couldn’t spare the manpower – and surely, after taking down a demon as massive as Hanzo, the agents were busy reveling in their victory. 

It was the same story everywhere he went. 

Overconfidence and its resulting complacence were greater enemies than demonkind alone could ever be. Though perhaps it was only human to celebrate a battle, hard-fought. They weren’t like their enemies, after all. They were only mortal. They tired and aged. Their wounds ached and lingered. Perhaps they needed that respite to keep themselves sane in a neverending, hopeless battle.

Jesse thought back to his own celebrations, and how they filled him with hope – sunlight through the clouds. Lena laughing madly as she trounced them all in poker, Jack working the grill on a hot, summer’s day, with Lúcio, mixing sauces just as vibrant and colorful as their joyful, makeshift family of misfits. 

Zarya was showing off, lifting beer kegs in a competition with Reinhardt. 

Everybody loved Satya’s salad. 

Pharah laughed at him for spilling mustard all over his shirt, and Angela joined in, leaning over her shoulder. 

As gloomy as their mission was, his days in Overwatch were filled with happy memories. 

Shaking off his nostalgia, Jesse tried to focus himself on the present. Though when he set his backpack on the ground and reached for Hanzo’s urn, he hesitated - and knew there was no turning back. That very moment would signal a turning point in his life. Light or darkness. Salvation or damnation. 

All of humanity or a single demon. 

His attachment to Hanzo was entirely illogical. It was dangerous. Selfish. A smarter man, a better man, would have walked away.

Was he willing to give up his place in Overwatch for a life on the run with a demon? An empty, sinking feeling welled up within him, and Jesse reached for his backpack, ready to throw it over his shoulder and flee. 

Though at the very last second, he noticed it: the little omamori charm pinned to his backpack. This one, clearly handmade. It was dirty and askew, thicker on one side more than the other. He couldn’t help but laugh – a quiet, mournful sound – as he imagined Hanzo’s thick, demon fingers, fiddling with a needle and thread. 

And yet it seemed fitting in its own way. A quiet, dignified hobby for a shy and sullen demon.

Jesse held Hanzo’s urn against his chest before placing it into his backpack.

_____________________________________________

He shivered in the cold, naked, save for his serape. His filthy, mud-stained clothing dried by the fire. 

After another day of fruitless hunting in the summer rain, he was feverish, sick, and hungry. It stormed outside, lighting cracking through the air with such intensity as to match the pounding in his chest. 

Tirelessly, he kept his vigil, watching the mouth of the cave for the slightest sign of movement. 

Overwatch was searching for him. Perhaps all of Japan was. He was the lowest of the low, after all: a traitor, not to an organization or a country, but to mankind, itself. He was a villain who consorted with demons, who gave himself over to them willingly. 

…But it was worth it.

He understood that fact a little better with every passing day. It came with the joy and relief of watching that pile of steaming ashes coalesce into something that slowly came to resemble a body. In time, the fine powder had turned into a soft, fleshy mass. Skinless muscle, bloody and putrid. Though it smelled like carrion and oozed puss from its network of veins, Jesse loved to stroke his hand over the twitching mound of flesh. Only his touch and nothing else could hope to still its movements. If he held it close enough, he could feel the solidity of bones forming within the tissue. Cartilage joining them together. The mass, growing larger.

Piece by piece, his oni came back from the brink of death, though Jesse himself grew weaker by the day. In truth, it didn’t matter. Not to him.

Jesse didn’t fear his death anymore, quite as much as he feared Hanzo’s. 

Though he already knew that demons never died, though he’d seen them regenerate time and again, he feared –

Is this an exception?

Is this how it ends: with guilt, and a grudge, and words left unsaid? He thought back to the last time he and Hanzo had spoken. He’d insulted his horns and said that he hated him. 

But that wasn’t what he’d meant. 

Not at all.

Guilt had threatened to overtake him when the rotting mound beside him shivered. Hushing him, Jesse removed his serape and draped it over Hanzo’s body. With a loving smile, endlessly fond, he took his pocketknife and reopened the gash in his palm for the third time that evening. 

“Here, Sunshine,” he whispered, pressing his hand against the muscle, “Have some more.”

With a strange sense of calm, he leaned against his oni, savoring that rare sense of peace. It tickled, slightly, as he felt Hanzo’s little capillaries, no thicker than strings, form and latch onto his hand, joining them together for yet another meal. 

He patted the mound in silent encouragement and let Hanzo leech off of him until his vision blurred. Only then did he pull his hand away, watching as the hundreds of veins snapped one by one. It was disgusting, he knew. Any ordinary human wouldn’t have tolerated such a thing, and yet he didn’t even flinch as he began to pluck the writhing veins off of his hand.

From the corner of his eye, he watched the lump of muscle sink against the floor, finally able to relax now that it was fed and satisfied. 

Jesse smiled at it and drew closer still.

At that moment, he knew that it was worth it. All of it was.

Perhaps it was sick. Perhaps such an act would taint his soul and bar him entry from Heaven’s gates, but in a moment of weakness – or perhaps a defining moment of hard-earned strength – Jesse knelt down beside the demon he loved and pressed his lips against Hanzo’s rotting flesh.


	9. Chapter 9

Demons never slept. 

They were never afforded the mercy, never permitted to sink into that deep and dark oblivion. Theirs was a tireless existence: a throbbing consciousness, red-hot and burning, hyperaware of both sense and sensation. 

_Always_. Even when his body crumbled to dust. 

Deaf, blind, and dumb, Hanzo struggled through a hopeless battle, willing his paralyzed body to move, even when it had lost its form. Though his body hadn’t needed air in over two hundred years, as if spurred by human memories, long suppressed and only recently brought to light, when his body broke down, he remembered how it felt to drown. 

He needed to move.

He needed to _breathe_ , begging nonexistent lungs to expand and a nonexistent head to lift itself out of water. 

Time dragged on; centuries of suffocation. Struggling against the tide, he willed himself to swim, and yet he never knew which way was up, or if he weren’t completely enclosed from the very beginning. He’d fallen out of tune to every sensation but pain.

Even when his sense of touch returned to him, all that it provided was the knowledge that he was rotting. He could feel the dryness in his muscles, the poison in his flesh. He could feel the tickling, little footsteps of flies and beetles, come to feast upon his putrid flesh. 

Every movement of their little jaws. 

Eating him. 

He begged for death to take him, just as he always did when his body collapsed – but then something, or someone, was there, beside him. A scratchy, old cloth was lain on top of him, shielding him from vermin and the open air.  
…And it was warm. 

So warm. Warmer than the fire burning beside him. It reminded him of the horigotatsu in Shimada Castle. 

Sitting across from his little brother in the middle of winter. He could almost hear his voice calling to him: Genji’s laughter, as he set down the winning shogi tile. 

Though he had no eyes to close, Hanzo relaxed all the same – his muscles, twitching beneath the blanket to come to a quiet, steady rest.

The warmth of the man leaning on him felt like home.

It felt… like home.

_______________________________

When his vision finally returned to him, the very first sight he saw was _Jesse_ , lying by his side. He looked so fragile without his clothing. So small and frail. His skin, ravaged by a sickly pallor, reminded him of the shoji screen windows that Genji used to break, as a boy, licking his fingers and poking holes through the paper. Always so mischievous.

He wondered if the slightest touch would break through Jesse’s skin, now; he could see the ribs jutting out from his torso. 

Despite their history, and despite the sacrifice that the hunter had made for him, Hanzo was only a demon. The very first thought that came to the oni’s mind was not pity for a poor and sickly man, but _excitement_ at having stumbled upon such easy prey. He couldn’t stop himself from crawling on top of Jesse’s body and dragging his fangs along his flesh, mouthing at his stomach, knowing just where to _bite_ to tug his liver from his body. He couldn’t help it. New-born into the world once more, eager to break his fast, the fledging demon prepared to bite – until he felt the soft, gentle motion of fingers carding through his hair. 

“…Hey, Pumpkin,” greeted a weak and trembling voice, so familiar. 

It brought him back to reality – made him remember airplanes, and daifuku, and his brother’s little shrine. It was a voice as warm as the dawn’s first light; it dragged him out of the darkness. His lonely little lantern, guiding him out of the fog. 

“Are you hungry?” the voice continued, “You can go ahead and bite down, if that’s what you want to do. I’m no good to you, now. I can’t even get up. …This is the only way I can help you now, Sunshine.”

A jolt of pure fear tore through him, and at that moment, Hanzo forgot his hunger. He remembered.

…He remembered.

The man below him wasn’t just a piece of meat; it was _Jesse_. It was someone so important to him that he risked his own freedom to break him free from a shinigami’s influence.

He pulled his jaws away, shaking himself back into reality, before running his massive palms over Jesse’s body. Checking for wounds, the first thing he noticed was just how _cold_ his human was. The fire that had once blazed beside them had burned out long ago. Not even a trace of smoke remained, nor the memory of dying embers. 

“No,” Hanzo disagreed, “You may aid me by surviving. What is it that you need, Jesse? What can I do for you?”

“You’ve done enough. Take care of yourself, for once. … _Run_ , Han. Go on. You’re free, now. Watch out for the hunters and go live your life.” Jesse tried to reach for him; he saw it in the tremble of his muscles, even when he couldn’t lift his arm. “I know you’re gonna hunt again. It’s just what you do; you can’t help it. But when you get a break from it all, when you come down from your high, and when you’re forced to remember everything, just… just remember everything I told you. Okay? You’re a good man. A good friend. …And you were special to me. Five hundred years down the line, I want to be a happy memory to you.”

Though he wanted nothing more than to scold him and force him to cease that horrible nonsense, courtesy and social custom stilled his tongue. In the end, Hanzo was too polite to interrupt what could very well be a dying man’s last request. 

“I think that’s the thing I’m most afraid of,” he let Jesse continue, even when it wrenched at his heart to listen, “Dying with everyone hating my guts. Like I never existed at all, or worse – that everyone’s better off with me gone. I want you to remember me at my best. …I want you to remember that I loved you.”

“If that is your final wish.” 

Hanzo rose, suddenly, stalking out towards the mouth of the cave.

“W-Wait,” Jesse interjected, “Where are you going? Han… Han!”

“You need medicine,” he sighed, raking his claws against the stone walls, sharpening them in preparation for a fight, “You need food and water. I will remember you fondly after your passing, as is your desire, I will pray at your shrine and honor your memory - but you will not pass today. I will make sure of that.”

A look of surprise came across Jesse’s features, though it settled down into a weary smile, holding back tears. “And what’re you gonna do?” he laughed, amused, yet weak and weary, “Storm into a city somewhere? Rob a hospital?”

“I will do what I must.”

“God, don’t kill anyone,” his human sighed, pleading, “Not for me. I don’t want you to –”

“But _I_ want you to live, Jesse. I want to stay at your side and watch you grow old. If others must die to ensure your survival, then so be it. I am a demon, Jesse; I am selfish by nature. …But I swear to you, upon my honor, that I will not cast the first stone. I will first attempt to trade for goods and medicine, but if your fellow humans are not willing to listen, then I will break through their barriers and _take_ it. I will stay my hand, if I am able. I will flee without bloodshed. But if I am pursued, if their warriors put you at risk, then I will cut them down where they stand.” 

“Han…”

“There is nothing that I will not do for your sake. _Nothing_.” His voice, inexplicably soft, sounding more man than demon, despite its otherworldly growl. “That is simply the price that you must pay for having tied your fate to mine.”

Jesse opened his mouth, as if to speak, but it soon fell closed, the man, lying still, looking up at him with silent understanding and strangely reluctant fondness. He held Jesse’s gaze for a lingering moment, as if he knew it could be for the very last time. Finally, once the man bid him a quiet farewell, Hanzo offered him a proper, parting bow and left for the city.

_________________________________________________

He’d wandered through the village, visiting shops, as the townspeople hid and gawked at him from a distance. 

Jesse would be pleased, he considered, at the fact that he hadn’t taken a single life. The only person who had so much as put up a fight was an elderly, hunchbacked woman who’d smacked him with a rolled up sheet of paper before her grandson could pull her away.

Hanzo sniffed at the open air, tracking Jesse’s scent through the calm, summer night. Inside of the bags that he’d stolen were pouches. Pouches containing hundreds of bottles of medicine. They each bore a different, unfamiliar name and came in the strangest shapes and colors. He took them all, just in case, tearing them from the shelves. He took everything, just in case Jesse would need it: rectangular blocks of food encased in shining paper, bottles of water from the shelves, little crinkly bags. He took little metal cylinders and pre-cooked meals that were somehow kept warm within their boxes. 

Hanzo glanced over his shoulder before picking up his pace. Strangely enough, perhaps out of fear or merely confusion, nobody had chased after him.

“Jesse, I have returned home!” he practically shouted, even though ‘home’ was only a damp cave, “Jesse –”

His beaming smile faltered the moment he realized that Jesse hadn’t moved an inch from where he’d left him. A slick sheen of sweat covered the human’s forehead, as he teetered on the brink of unconsciousness. Every breath was ragged. Now, having returned to his senses, Hanzo could smell it – the sickness in his blood.

“Jesse!” he called, pulling him up to sit against the wall.

But his human didn’t respond. 

He poked a hole through the bottom of a stolen bottle and held it up to Jesse’s lips. 

“Here – have something to drink,” Hanzo chimed in, when his companion turned his head away with a pained groan, letting water spill over his bare chest. “…No? I have food and clothing, if that is what you desire, instead. I can take care of you, but I need you to tell me what to do. What do you need, Jesse? What do you wish of me?”

No matter how he pleaded, Jesse just wouldn’t respond. He could see his human’s eyes flutter open every now and again, though they never focused on anything. The man was breathing, but just barely – shallow and slow breaths that made Hanzo fear that every subsequent one would be his last.

He would simply need to do… _everything_.

Everything he could. 

He pulled out the yukata that he’d stolen from the village – a pattern that matched the one that he’d stolen for _himself_ , from the very same location. 

It reminded him of the games he used to play with his cousin, back when she was still young enough not to resent him for his position as the eldest son of their most honorable family. As a child, she liked to dress up her porcelain dolls in little kimonos. He would join her every now and again, just to hear her laugh at his sloppy handiwork. 

He wrapped the stolen yukata over his little copper doll, over its metal arm and strange, hairy limbs. Hanzo couldn’t help but stare into its foreigner’s face, so different from his own. In another lifetime altogether, he would have found the man’s appearance unsightly, so strangely foreign, and yet now…

 _His Jesse was so handsome_.

Smiling, he picked his human up and carried him towards the fire, restarted with a simple touch of his horns against the kindling. If Jesse simply needed a moment to rest, then he would allow it. The food and the water wasn’t going anywhere; Jesse could have it upon his awakening.

_________________________________________________

Humans recovered so slowly. 

It had almost begun to frustrate him; he had long ago forgotten what illness felt like. He understood pain and hunger, of course. He knew the agony of yearning and denial, and yet, after hundreds of years in a demon body, built for endurance, Hanzo had forgotten how it felt to simply be… _tired_. 

Mentally.

Physically.

A part of him had actually begun to grow frustrated at Jesse’s slow recovery, though he didn’t dare to voice such insensitive thoughts aloud. Every time Jesse asked for his help, to carry him to the river or to prepare his food, Hanzo did as asked, resisting the urge to complain about the indignity of it all – being ordered about like a servant. 

He knew full well, however, that Jesse would have done the same for him, _gladly_ , were their positions reversed. That knowledge staved off his anger and irritation and instead filled him with a strange sense of pride at watching his little human regain a bit of color in his cheeks.

“Thanks, Dumplin’,” Jesse said with a smile, as Hanzo handed him another bowl of prepacked, instant noodles. Before starting on his food, Jesse swallowed another tablet of something called ‘penicillin,’ which had taken Hanzo hours to find at his request, meticulously sifting through the mountain of bottles that he’d stolen from the apothecary. “Bet you’re tired of takin’ care of me, huh?”

“No,” Hanzo lied, “Of course not. I am simply returning the kindness that you had shown to me, during my regeneration.”

“Oh, but _you_ were low maintenance,” Jesse teased, “I didn’t have to feed you, or bathe you, or… wipe your ass, or anything, like you had to do for me.”

Well, at the very least, he was appreciative. Hanzo’s irritation melted away, just a little bit more.

“But you would have, if I requested it of you. That is reason enough for me to stay.”

“Thanks, by the way,” Jesse said, suddenly, “For everything. For taking care of me, and breakin’ me out of that hellhole, and -” He coughed into his fist, as though unaccustomed to such sentimentality. Hanzo could see the pink flush in his cheeks clearly, now that his tan had disappeared after so many weeks in their humble little cave. For a moment, he thought that Jesse would simply cut himself off, right then and there, but instead, the human continued, glancing over at him with endless fondness. “I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is… thanks for staying. Not many people do. You know? I’m used to having people come in and out of my life, whether that’s because they die, or the goin’ gets too tough, or… they just get tired of me, in general. It means a lot that you stayed. It means the world to me.” 

“Most members of Overwatch would be eager to drive an oni away,” Hanzo teased with a playful smile, all tusk and jagged teeth. 

“Yeah, well they don’t know you – and they’re damn poorer for it. Besides, I’m not exactly a hunter, anymore. There’s no goin’ back. From now on, it’s just you and me.”

“I must admit that I am somewhat relieved that I will not be returning to Overwatch’s custody, after all,” Hanzo admitted.

“…Me too.” For a moment, Jesse only smiled back at him, until his relief slowly morphed into something subtly akin to despondency. “But you know, I just realized that Reyes is gonna end up in the same situation you were. He’ll be locked up in that basement. Experimented on. The same people he used to work with are gonna be the ones who lock him up. They’re gonna hurt him; _Jack_ is gonna –”

“Do you earnestly believe that Morrison-san would do such a thing? From what little I was able to learn of their predicament, I had come to understand that your mentor and our shinigami were quite close.”

“It’s _because_ they’re close that Jack would be the one who would put him there personally - like that would soften the blow. …I know that would happen because it’s exactly what I would have done to you, if I hadn’t gotten my act together. Even if I turned you in, I still wouldn’t have wanted the others touch you. Even if that’d mean that I’d have to be the one to cut off your horns.”

A sharp flash of betrayal jolted through him, though Hanzo quickly smothered it down, knowing full well that Jesse had changed – that he’d turned his back on the very people he used to protect. For _him_.

“Why do you sound so remorseful?” Hanzo asked instead, changing the subject, “Reaper – the demon you call ‘Reyes,’ – almost killed you.”

“He wasn’t always like that,” Jesse claimed, clearly struggling to come to terms with his former ally’s betrayal, “I mean, he wasn’t ever a ‘gentle lamb,’ or anything, but it wasn’t until he and Jack started driftin’ apart that he got so _angry_. …But before all of that, he was a hero. Reyes was the person who saved me when Overwatch brought down Deadlock. Anyone else would’ve just locked me in prison and thrown away the key, but Reyes believed in second chances. He knew what it was like to be alone. To have nothing and no one, to be poor and hungry – and to have to grow up tough because of it. Without him, I wouldn’t even be here right now. So do I think he needs to be brought down now that he’s hurting people? Yeah. I do. …But it kills me to admit it. It makes me sick.”

“For what little it is worth, Reaper’s betrayal of your mentor is not motivated by malice. He seeks knowledge of a cure: something to reverse his demonic condition.” 

Despite his despondency, Jesse seemed to perk up, at least slightly, at that. “Do you think somethin’ like that actually exists?”

“Perhaps. I doubt that any such spell, no matter how powerful, would grant us a second life; our human bodies have already crumbled to dust. But at the very least, it would grant us that which every demon desires: the calm and the stillness of death.” 

Jesse seemed to consider his words for a moment, turning his face and chewing at his inner-cheek, as though struggling to come to terms with Hanzo’s words. 

“Even you?” he asked, at last, in tentative, shaking tones, “Do you want that? …Do you want to die?”

“Yes. Or, rather, I _had_ ,” Hanzo reconsidered. The old oni stroked at his beard, running his claws through the strands. “Now, admittedly, I am not so certain. A demon’s existence is one of pain and endless struggle, and yet… you bring me peace. A shelter in the raging storm. It does not always last, there are moments when I can only just _barely_ resist the urge to shove you against the wall and tear you to ribbons. I am able to resist my demonic nature only through grueling effort… and my love for you. I am sometimes bitter that I am forced to deny myself so, but in my moments of calm, when I am able to see you as you truly are, I have no regrets. Despite the pain and the hunger… I want to _live_. I would like to remain at your side for just a while longer.”

It was so sudden -

Jesse’s kiss hit him like a bullet in the back. It took his breath away, and at that moment, Hanzo felt sixteen years old, all over again, holding his servant’s hand behind the bushes. He’d rejected her after the excitement and foolishness of youth wore away, and the heavy weight of his duty returned to him in spades. 

But this time, there was no family to admonish him. No father to disappoint and no clan to dishonor. 

At the end of it all, his world was nothing more and never anything less than Jesse McCree.

It was the kind of love he’d read about in novels. The kind that came only once, perhaps twice, in a lifetime, if only a person was lucky enough to recognize it. Genji had always teased him for his shyness – laughing, saying that Hanzo would die a virgin. 

…And he _had_.

It took him half-a-millennia to find a love of his own. Though he would have waited a thousand more years just to end up with Jesse all over again.

“Han,” Jesse called, breaking his trance, “…Can I take off your kimono?”

Though he’d faced rival clans and his own mortality, though he’d fought against veritable armies and faced centuries of torture, Hanzo had never been so afraid, _or so excited_ , as he was, at the very moment when Jesse slipped his hand into his robe. 

________________________________________________

It was amusing in its own right: watching a demon play the blushing virgin, lying on his back, with those bony spikes digging into the earth. Squirming in his little nest of blankets, Hanzo almost looked more nervous than Jesse felt. 

Though he was the one who’d initiated everything, in truth, Jesse hadn’t thought it through. It was a spur of the moment decision; he hadn’t quite considered the logistics of it all. 

Who was going to be on top?

How big was Hanzo’s penis? …Did he even have a penis?

“You alright, Sweet Pea?” Jesse asked, standing above him, “It’s okay if you’re having second thoughts, and… you don’t want to do this, after all.”

“No, I am only nervous because I have never -” The demon coughed into his fist – “I… have never lain with anyone before. Much less a man. This is… This is all very new to me.”

“Oh.” 

The awkward chuckle that escaped his lips was so weak, so pathetic, that it absolutely disgusted him. Jesse was ashamed to admit that a part of him almost wished that the demon had changed his mind. At the very least, then, it wouldn’t only be Jesse who was getting cold feet. It wasn’t that his love for Hanzo had waned, as much as it was that he was undeniably losing his attraction to him. It was easier to lust after a comely, dignified man standing five-foot-eight, instead of a veritable walking mountain, clawed and fanged like the stuff of nightmares. 

It was easier to get it up for something that didn’t look like a monster. 

Jesse was entirely flaccid, and judging by the fact that there was no little tent beneath Hanzo’s blankets, Jesse had to assume that the oni was, too.

…Or that he really didn’t have a cock, after all.

Fearfully, he glanced in Hanzo’s direction, praying to every god he knew that the demon wouldn’t be able to discern his true feelings – though of course, Hanzo always was too clever for his own good. 

The demon turned his face, staring blankly at the wall, with his hands folded delicately over his stomach. 

“You are… reconsidering our relationship,” he mumbled, with his little pointed ears, drooping down in a visible display of his sadness and disappointment. 

“No! That ain’t it. It’s just… I’ve always imagined myself gettin’ married to some pretty little lady. That’s what I always looked for when I was younger, and… and you’re just -”

“Ugly.”

“You’re _not what I was expecting_ ,” Jesse corrected. Gathering his courage, he stepped closer to their makeshift bed, to cup Hanzo’s face in his hand. “Yeah, I’m havin’ some trouble gettin’ started, here, but I wouldn’t trade you for the prettiest woman in the world. Maybe you won’t be winnin’ any beauty pageants anytime soon, but nobody’s perfect. I love you just the way you are. I wouldn’t change a thing about you, even if I could.”

With a brave little smile, Hanzo nuzzled against his hand, scraping his tusk against his palm. 

He was glad to provide some modicum of comfort, but Jesse knew it wasn’t permanent. It likely wasn’t a problem that would ever go away: Hanzo would always worry about his appearance. Anyone would, in his position, Jesse considered. But he would be there, next time, and all the times after that, to anchor him back down.

“Now, come on,” Jesse continued, gently urging him on, “Let’s see what you’ve got under those blankets.”

They came off inch by inch, with Hanzo, tugging them back every now and then, requiring Jesse’s encouragement every step of the way. 

…And for good reason.

Whatever dark magic that turned Hanzo’s human body into that of a monster’s hadn’t spared a single part of him. 

He _did_ have a cock – though even while soft, it was massive: hard and armored, and just about as thick as Jesse’s forearm. Strange, little ridges flared from the base, trailing up the curved shaft and ending in a pointed tip. 

Jesse could have tolerated the alien anatomy, perhaps, if not for the fact that it moved.

He watched, wide-eyed, as the armor began to pull away on its own, revealing a fleshy, lubricated cock, hiding beneath the supposed foreskin. 

It wasn’t until a minute had passed that Jesse realized the expression on his face was likely one of _horror_. 

“It is… revolting. Is it not?” Hanzo asked. His hand hovered over the shaft, as though afraid to touch it, himself. “Even after all these years, I have not grown accustomed to the change. I… try not to look at it.” 

“It’s somethin’ else – I’ll give you that,” Jesse muttered, dumbstruck. Like a child, all he could do was gape. One thought echoed through his mind, bouncing off the walls. 

 

 _Hanzo had four testicles_.

 

“Y’know, Honey Cakes,” he continued, coughing awkwardly into his fist, “I, uh… I don’t think I can do this.”

“I understand,” Hanzo answered with silent dignity, as he began to pull the blankets back over his legs –

“No! I don’t mean we can’t sleep with each other. It’s just that I don’t think I can… put that inside of me. …So _you’d_ have to –”

He shook his head. It was _ridiculous_ : asking an oni to bend over and spread his legs. 

…Did Hanzo even have an asshole?

The entire time that they’d travelled together, he never once heard Hanzo request to use a bathroom. He’d never seen the oni sneak off into the bushes or anything of the sort. 

“Are you asking if I would be willing to play the role of the woman?”

Well, that was one way to put it. A strange way, certainly, but it wasn’t as though he’d expected a five-hundred year old oni to be the model of political correctness. 

“W-Well… I probably can’t reach your prostate or anything. If you still have one. But I’ll try to make it good! I’ll think of somethin’.”

For a moment, he’d been worried that Hanzo would be offended, but at his explanation the oni only looked up at him, practically glowing with happiness. Little wrinkles teased at the corners of his eyes with the sincerity of his smile.

“Thank you for thinking of me, but you do have to concern yourself over my pleasure. Unlike when I was human, I no longer experience… ‘sexual urges.’ I have the parts and the ability, but I have lost my sense of desire.”

“Oh.” 

Somehow, the act of discussing sex itself seemed to calm the both of them down. Sighing, Jesse ran his fingers through Hanzo’s hair. “I get it. That’s too bad.”

“It is what it is. As I mentioned earlier, I have never lain with a woman, so I do not particularly miss what I have never truly experienced.”

“Then you don’t actually… _want_ this.”

“Oh, but I do,” Hanzo clarified, “Not for my own satisfaction, of course, but to please you. I… want to make you happy, Jesse.”

“You already do.”

“Allow me to do this for you, regardless.”

Kneeling for him, Hanzo drew closer, wrapping his long, forked tongue over Jesse’s cock.

“Fuck –”

Jesse clamped his hand over his mouth, though whether to repress a moan or a rushing stream of vomit, he didn’t know. His thoughts rushed about in the whirlwind of clashing emotion –

Love for the demon beside him, his own forsaken lust, his shame, his disgust, and his fear. Fear that if anyone caught them in such a heinous act, he would pay for it with more than his life. 

He’d seen them before – the skinless, scalpless remnants of men who slept with demons. The burned remains of women, impregnated by incubi.

It was almost enough to send bile rushing up his throat, but then Hanzo scraped his teeth against his cock, and Jesse forgot _everything_.

“Oh, Pumpkin…” He reached for Hanzo’s horns and _tugged_ , grinding into his mouth, feeling his tusks rub up against his hips, drawing blood. He hissed in pain, not from the meager scratches, but from the burn – when he drew his human hand back, steam rose from his palm, scorched from having dared to touch an oni’s glowing horns. From where his metal hand remained, squeezing onto the demon beneath him, Jesse saw the metal turn red from the unimaginable heat, spreading further and further up the limb the longer he dared to tug the oni closer. 

It was disgusting.

It was wrong.

It was _fucked up_ , and yet, when Jesse came down Hanzo’s throat, he didn’t regret a goddamn thing.

_________________________________________________

Hanzo’s body was like a furnace. Desperate for warmth, Jesse clung to his “little spoon,” careful not to poke his eye out on the spikes protruding from his shoulders and upper back. Hanzo snorted, filling the cave with smoke that quickly wafted away in the cool, night air. 

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” Jesse asked, knowing full well that demons never slept. 

“I wish that you would stop pressing your cold feet between my thighs.”

“Sorry –” 

Jesse pulled away, though he grimaced, slightly, when his swollen cock rubbed up against the fabric of his pants. 

“Is your penis still swollen?” Hanzo asked, looking over at the mortar and pestle that he’d stolen, along with the herbs that he’d found during the night. “I thought that you drank the antidote. Did I bring back the wrong ingredients?”

“No, that should’ve done the trick.” That recipe worked for the venom injected by an oni’s _bite_ , anyway, or the poison caused by ingesting its blood. “It’ll probably just take a while. I’m the first human who’s ever gotten oni spit in his piss hole, so… I guess we’ll see what happens next. …If my dick falls off, it’s all your fault, though.”

Laughing, Jesse pushed himself to his feet and tapped his bare toes against Hanzo’s thigh. 

“C’mon, Honey Cakes,” he teased, “Up and at ‘em. We have to get goin’ soon if we want to get to Aokigahara by sunrise.”

In response to his pestering, Hanzo closed his eyes and let out a tired sigh, stretching out his arms to sharpen his claws on the rough cave walls. 

_Like a cat_ , Jesse couldn’t help but think, with a smile, utterly charmed.

When they left their cave for the very last time, Jesse made a mental note to remember its location. Someday, when their troubles had passed, perhaps they could return to the place where they found each other, wholly, for the very first time. 

“Is your harness secured?” Hanzo asked him, pulling him back to reality.

“Yeah,” Jesse replied, double-checking his makeshift set of belts and buckles that held him up to Hanzo’s back, just below his spines, “Looks like we’re good to go. …You really don’t mind carryin’ me?”

“If I had to wait for you to walk, Jesse, we would not arrive in Aokigahara for another week, at best. Humans are so slow.”

“Asshole.” He gave his oni a teasing jab in the side before wrapping his arms around him, squeezing tight. “…Alright. I think I’m good to go.”

In just the work of a moment, they were off, racing through the trees and the thicket and onto the open road. The world around him flashed by in a blur; Hanzo’s steady footsteps fell in rhythmic pulses, easing Jesse into a trance. With the wind in his hair, he closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against Hanzo’s back, and he felt twelve years old all over again, running through sprawling fields of golden wheat.

It was then that he realized it, once and for all, that being with Hanzo felt like coming home.


	10. Chapter 10

He cast a weary glance behind the table, watching his torturer drop his bloody instruments, one by one, onto the metal trays below. 

_Plink. Plink. Plink._

Pliers, scalpels, hammers, needles dripping with blood, glinting dangerously in the firelight, coming to rest beside extracted teeth. Summoning his courage, Jack pressed his quivering tongue against his gums and barely repressed the urge to vomit. Blood and iron. His nerves flared like fireworks, an explosion of white-hot, searing pain that robbed the air from his lungs. 

He pulled his tongue away and tried to ignore it, trying to bask in the glow of something he’d learned to appreciate only during his time in captivity: the absence of pain. He savored it like wine, closing his eyes as the minutes ticked by in silence. 

The shinigami’s approaching footsteps dragged him out of nirvana and back into the suffocating darkness of Aokigahara. He sat still, barely breathing. There was a time when he would have run, a time when he would have fought back, but now, he was just too damned tired to put up a resistance. Though Gabriel had freed him from his bonds long ago, there was no escaping that hellhole. Jack knew that by now. He had all the scars from his past failed attempts to show for it.

“…I thought we were done for the day,” Jack muttered, exhausted. 

“We are. So you can stop looking at me like that.”

Jack actually chuckled, knowing full well that he would pay for it, later. “Like what? Like you’re everything we used to stand against?”

“Like I’m a _monster_.” 

His eyelids fluttered closed, as he focused on the quiet echoes of the shinigami’s voice. He recognized that tone. It was the one Gabe used when he talked about the war – not the fantastic tales of heroism and “badassery” that he spouted off to anyone who would listen, but the quiet, trembling whispers reserved for just the two of them. Just Jack and Gabe, lying side by side at three in the morning, haunted by the same, old ghosts.

The soldier enhancement program. Moira’s experiments. Blackwatch.

How many pieces of him could they replace with wires and nanobots before he simply wasn’t himself anymore? Gabe could lose himself for hours, falling deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole. Though they were the ones fighting demons, Jack knew that sometimes, it was Gabe who felt like a monster. All of those sacrifices. All that hard work. The scars and the doubts.

Had they been worth it?

“…You’re not a monster,” Jack corrected with an exasperated sigh. If he couldn’t convince him of that fact twenty years ago, however, he knew that he couldn’t do so now. “I never thought you were.”

The shinigami shook his head and began to turn away, just like old times. It was so… _him_. Impossible to console, storming out the door and coming back like he always did. The familiarity struck him like a dagger in the chest. 

“What I think,” Jack continued, “What I _really_ think… is that you’re not evil; you’re just scared and angry. I want to make it better, but to be honest, Gabe, I just… I don’t know how to help you anymore. I want to, believe me – but I don’t know if I can.” 

He let out a deep and weary breath and rubbed his hand over his eyes, clearing away the blood. He’d been keeping that confession bottled up inside of him for God only knew how long; he could never find the courage to let it out. Somehow, fighting wave after wave of demons was never quite as frightening as the thought of hurting Gabe - even if what hurt him was the truth.

“You don’t have to. I never needed your help,” the shinigami snapped back, eager to hide his own wounds. But Jack noticed the way he bristled, that little, irritated tremble down his spine.

“Yeah, you never needed _anybody’s_ help did you?” he scoffed, losing his legendary patience, “But somehow, when anything went wrong, whenever you failed, it was never your fault, either. It was always your foster homes, or the gangs, or the military who fucked up your life before you could even get it started. Or maybe it was Overwatch screwing you over. Or _me_ , holding you back. But there’s no conspiracy against you, Gabe. No one’s sabotaging you; no one’s stabbing you in the back. You’re just… The things you say sometimes, the way you _act_ , pushes people away. You are the one causing all of your problems. It’s _you_. You’re the only person holding you back.”

Even with Gabriel’s face replaced by that skull, Jack could sense the pain he’d caused with his little confession. The hurt. The disappointment. Gabriel looked at him, deathly still, and didn’t say a word for what felt like decades. 

“How long have you been waiting to say that?” he asked at last.

Jack couldn’t bear to look at him.

“I was hoping you’d figure it out on your own, so that I’d never have to. But now I know that’s not going to happen: even now, you’re blaming me for everything. I just stood there and took it in the past, and maybe that’s my mistake. Maybe I just made it worse. Gave you someone you could scream at, and blame, and know that I’d still be there in the morning.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m –” The demon averted his eyes at the very last moment, cutting himself off, and Jack knew that that was as close to an apology as he would ever get from a man as arrogant as Gabriel Reyes, human or not. “I never wanted things to end the way they did.”

“I know.”

He leaned back against the wall and rested his eyes, though he knew that sleep would never come to him while Gabriel still lingered, carrying the silent threat of pain with him, all the while. He bided his time, waiting for the demon to grow tired of his unresponsiveness and storm off in frustration, but instead, he remained.

“…Hey,” he said instead, prompting conversation for whatever reason that Jack couldn’t possibly understand. He blinked wearily, opening his eyes and looking up at Gabriel with a curious expression. “Do you still remember when that bomb went off in King’s Row, and the tunnel caved in on us?”

“You mean before Overwatch?” 

“Before _everything_. We were just a couple of fresh recruits, just kids, too young to drink, but old enough to kill and _be_ killed.” 

“…What about it?” 

“That night, when I woke up under the rubble and realized that I couldn’t move my legs, I thought that was it for me. I thought that I was going to die down there.”

“I remember,” Jack said, playing along. Despite everything he’d been through and despite his high suspicions, he couldn’t help but smile at the memory. He could feel his anger waning as the image of a young Gabe with tears and snot rolling down his face faded in and out of his memory. “We could hear the demons walking around above us. It was only a matter of time until they smelled our blood through the cracks and came looking. You turned white as a sheet.”

“Do you remember what I told you?”

“Of course I do,” he replied with a cheeky smile, aimed more at the memory than at Gabe, himself, “You were so stubborn, barking out orders like you were my CO. You told me to leave you and run while I still had the chance. ‘Leaving friends behind is part of being a soldier.’ You sounded like an ass.”

“Maybe I did,” the shinigami chuckled, much to his surprise. It sounded so familiar. “But what I didn’t tell you, Jack… is that I didn’t mean it. I wanted you to survive, yeah - but I didn’t want you to go. I didn’t want to die alone down there, helpless. So when you stayed, even though I shouted at you and acted like an ungrateful ass, the truth is, I was…” 

“I know,” Jack answered, filling in the blank from his former partner’s lingering pause, “You don’t have to say it.”

“No. You don’t know.” The shinigami turned to face him, then, speaking with such clarity that it left him numb and dumbstruck. “What I didn’t tell you, then, what I _never_ told you, was that… that was the day I fell in love with you.”

Through all their years together, Jack could hardly remember all the times that he’d told Gabriel that he loved him: every morning that they woke up together, every evening before they went to sleep. Stolen moments of solitude interspersed between the ever-turning cycle of hectic, everyday life. He’d said it thousands upon millions of times - but Gabriel had never even said it once. He showed it, in his own ways. Little favors here and there. Touches so gentle that they had no rightful place coming from such a brute of a man. 

He knew that Gabe had loved him, but the man never said it. 

Not until then.

“You looked so stupid,” Gabriel continued, his playful teasing filling him with a warmth he’d long forgotten, “Trying to move all that rubble by yourself. Turning red in the face. And when that demon finally found us, you were so scared, I’m amazed you didn’t piss yourself.”

“I did, a little,” Jack admitted with a smile so fond it made him look thirty years younger, “I was _terrified_. It was the first time I had to fight alone. I only had the courage to stay because I was fighting to protect _you_.”

That was the start of it all. His medals, his honors, and all his tales of heroism, stemming from the moment when he refused to leave a friend behind. He took a deep breath, willing himself to have the courage to be candid.

“Gabe, I –”

Gabriel flinched before he could finish, spinning around towards the door, as if sensing a sudden shift in the air. Something major. 

“What’s going on,” Jack asked, failing to see what had roused the other man. “Gabe –”

“I sense magic. A demon’s coming. A big one.” Slowly, the shinigami shook his head with a quiet growl, slowly growing in intensity. “…It’s that _oni_!”

 _Jesse’s demon_.

He couldn’t believe it. Despite the oni’s apparently civility, Jack hadn’t expected any acts of kindness from it. He’d expected it to take Jesse and go, perhaps to the ends of the earth. But for it to have come back… Jesse must have insisted upon it.

And he must have been quite persuasive.

Jack didn’t truly have the time to think about it. Only seconds had passed before Gabriel was stomping out the door, leaving him behind, just like he always did.

__________________________________________________

“You still have the opportunity to turn around and await my return. It is not too late,” Hanzo muttered, shamelessly pouting. It must have been the fiftieth time that he’d given Jesse that little reminder since they’d reentered Reyes’s cave. 

Though an oni was about as far from a salty old fishwife as a person could get, Hanzo certainly had a penchant for nagging like one. That demon had already scolded him for leaving his stolen sweater in the cave, and for not drinking enough water, and for dragging his feet when he walked.

“I know, but I’ve already made up my mind.”

“Morrison-san is sick and injured. He will require protection as we lead him out of this cave. I mean no offense, Jesse, but you lack the strength to stand against a demon as powerful as your former mentor. If you insist upon pursuing this endeavor, then I will be forced to protect the both of you – a task that I do not anticipate being able to fulfill. Not without great difficulty and even greater fortune.”

Jesse sighed, looking back at his oni with a mixture of waning annoyance and slowly growing, reluctant understanding. Loath as he was to admit it, Hanzo had a point. Instead of actively aiding him in the battle to come, Jesse would be nothing more than dead weight. How could Hanzo possibly focus on the fight ahead when he was too busy serving as Jesse’s shield as well as Jack’s?

“I know, I know…” He stopped suddenly, anxiously fiddling with his cigar, “I’m sorry for making this harder for you, Han. I really am. I know I’m puttin’ myself in danger, here, but this is important to me. I have to be there for Jack. It’s just something that I gotta do.”

Jesse paused, chewing at his lip as he worked up the nerve to continue. He was never particularly sentimental. Nobody but Overwatch’s veterans knew of his past: of a Jesse McCree who was anything but heroic. Nobody knew that at one point, Jesse had been hateful, and bitter, and angry at the world. That he had been a boy who had lost everything due to nothing more than a bit of bad luck. 

With no job and no family, the bank had taken his parent’s home and left him in foster care, though they didn’t even bother to check up on his welfare, after that, always brushing aside his complaints to keep his paperwork off of their desks. His last set of foster parents had put locks on their refrigerators; they had a room in the basement, hot and humid, where they abandoned unruly children for days at a time until they “learned their lesson.” Nobody cared. Everybody looked away. After only a month, he’d chosen to scrounge for himself on the streets rather than stay in that hellhole for another minute. Stealing scraps out of the garbage behind a local restaurant had been bad enough, but watching happy families exit, seemingly a vision of his own idyllic past, was enough to drive him mad. He’d punched the dumpster until his knuckles bled. 

Knowing that the world kept on turning while his own had stopped –

It shattered him.

Fearful and powerless, he’d wanted everyone else to be just as miserable as he was. So when Deadlock came knocking, he answered. 

“When I got arrested,” he continued, “It was Reyes who convinced the others to give me a second chance - but it was Jack who really saved me. For the longest time, I felt like a prisoner in Overwatch: some kid they picked up just to throw on the front lines as a distraction, or cannon-fodder, or whatever you want to call it. I thought I was demon food, and I hated Overwatch for that. I really did. I wouldn’t talk to anyone, I wouldn’t help out more than the bare minimum, I cursed them all behind their backs. I didn’t even give a damn about all the people we were saving.”

“You seem so passionate about it, now,” Hanzo remarked, feigning interest – though it was clear from his expression that he hadn’t been convinced. That he wanted nothing more than to watch Jesse turn around and walk away, out of the cave and back to safety. “When we stumbled upon the girl in the forest, you defied my recommendations in order to protect her.”

“Yeah, I know, right? I changed a lot, for the better, when Jack took me under his wing. Sometimes, I can barely even recognize myself. But believe it or not, I use to be a real, selfish piece of shit. I remember, once, we were fighting this monster; it was _huge_. We managed to bring it down, yeah, but not before it had already eaten most of the town. I remembered Angie was runnin’ herself ragged, patchin’ people up. Lena was crying ‘cause she couldn’t catch someone who had jumped off a building when he was cornered. Hell, everyone was a mess, so Jack started goin’ around, checkin’ up on all of us just to see how we were holdin’ up. He approached me all quiet like, expectin’ the worst, but me? I didn’t give a damn. I’d already seen it all a thousand times before, and honestly, all I could think about, even with all the death around me, was that I still had it worse. Nobody hurt more than I did, so those people didn’t deserve an ounce of my pity.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“Yeah,” he confessed, “I actually did. I half-expected him to throw a punch at me or to toss me out like another foster home and put me back in prison. I expected the worst, but instead, Jack just took my arm and had me follow him around that town, through the ruins and the fires. He told me that sometimes, life just ain’t fair - but that it ain’t entirely _un_ fair, either. Even though I got dealt a shitty hand, I still had the power to do something with it. Now, either I could convince myself that everything good in me died alongside my family, or I could consider that maybe I survived for a reason. I had potential; I still had so much I could do with my life. The demons had taken a lot from me, yeah, but it my choice whether I let them take everything. I could still try to make sure they never got to do that to anyone else. I could become the person who my pa and my sister were praying for the day they died. Hell, I already _was_ that hero to a lot of the people in that town. You see, Reyes picked me back up again, but it was Jack who convinced me to live. So this time, I want to be there for him. I can do this. I just need you to trust me.”

He cupped Hanzo’s cheek in his hand, and for just a moment, they stayed there, together – until the oni shook him away.

“Feelings of fondness and gratitude do not grant a man physical strength,” Hanzo muttered, pushing on ahead without even waiting for Jesse to follow, “…If they did, then it would have been my brother who emerged victorious against _me_. I apologize, Jesse, but you must forgive my skepticism. I simply do not wish to lose you.”

“You don’t think I can beat Reyes.” 

It wasn’t a question. 

Jesse’s shoulders slumped down, despondent, as he walked his demon walk away. As disappointed as he was, however, he knew that it was unreasonable to expect Hanzo’s support. 

“I _know_ that you cannot. Though if you wish to push onwards in spite of that, then so be it. I remain at your side for better or worse. All that I am able to do is protect you to the best of my ability.”

He jogged after him, catching up to Hanzo in an instant and wrapping his arms around that massive body. He pressed his cheek against his back, holding him close. 

“I’ll be fine,” he said, making empty promises in a futile effort to comfort a demon that was just as wise as his years would suggest, “Everything’ll be okay. I have too much to live for to let myself drop dead here. After all of this is said and done, I’m gonna take you home with me, if Overwatch’ll allow it. And if they don’t, well…”

“If they do not?”

They stood in place for what seemed like ages: the jarring image of a demon, cradled in a human’s arms. Despite the fact that it could have very been have been his last day on earth, Jesse felt at peace with the world, standing there with _him_. It was at that moment that he realized it: losing his family, his home, his friends – if everything in his life led to that moment, standing alone in the caves with Hanzo, he wouldn’t mind enduring it, all over again.

“We’ll manage. I’ll turn in my badge and… maybe we’ll wander around for a while. We can travel the world together. Maybe even find a cure for you.”

“Do not make promises that you cannot keep.” 

Despite the coldness of Hanzo’s chosen words, Jesse could feel the warmth in his tone: the playful edge that said that, despite all odds, he was starting to believe him – or at the very least, he wanted to. 

“I always keep my promises,” he said at last, pulling away from his demon to offer him his hand, “C’mon, now, it shouldn’t be much farther.”

Reyes had led him through those very halls, chained like an animal, more than enough times for him to recall the twists and turns of the winding tunnels. The first place he’d intended to search for Jack was the dungeon, but before they could turn a single corner, he heard a voice calling out to him –

It was the sound of a dying man: rattling bones, weak and trembling. 

“…Jack?” Jesse turned towards the sound of the voice and froze in place, wide-eyed. As terrible as he’d looked in the past, Jack now appeared closer to death than ever before. Blood tricked from his broken nose and down the corners of his mouth. “Jack!”

He saw the man stumble and burst into action, catching him just in time as Jack collapsed into his arms - though instead of the two-hundred pounds of dead weight Jesse had expected to come crashing down upon him, the man was nothing more than flesh and bone, with skin like paper, seemingly lighter than air itself. Fearing it all an illusion or a simple trick of the light, Jesse cradled Jack against his chest, holding him close as though he could vanish at any waking moment.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he whispered over and over, as though simple repetition could turn his prayers to reality. “You’re gonna be fine. We’re getting you out of here.”

“God, it’s good to see you,” Jack laughed between quiet, raspy breaths, “I figured you’d try to come back here. You’ve always had my back.”

“I’ll _still_ have your back for plenty more years after this, old man. We’ll get you back home, and then you can –”

“We should not take him anywhere. This is a trap,” Hanzo interrupted, his voice, stone-cold as it tore their reunion apart at the seams.

For once, Jesse couldn’t help but lose his temper, snapping back at the oni with annoyance and clear offense. “Look, I know you’re a cynic, and everything is a trap, or a trick, and _everyone’s_ a liar, but would it kill you to be a little sensitive for once in your goddamn _un_ -life?”

“Cut that out,” Jack gently scolded, attempting to stop their argument before it could even truly start, “Your oni’s right. I don’t know what Gabe is planning, but I know he’s up to something.”

Jesse leaned in closer, barely able to hear him, despite Jack’s obvious efforts.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

Despite his insistence, Jack ignored him completely, all in favor of addressing _Hanzo_. His gaze never wavered, staring him down.

“He ran off the second he sensed your magic,” Jack explained with the same quiet patience that he’d shown always shown Jesse during his days as a recruit, “But he’s not running from a fight. Knowing him, he’s probably laying traps instead, or finding the best place to corner you somehow. Whatever it is that he ran off for, it’s important enough that he was willing to leave me here, unguarded.”

“Then we must be wary of trickery.”

“Yeah. Jesse was never too good at watching out for things like that, and I’m too beaten up to help you, so… you’ll have to keep your eyes open, oni.” 

His mentor’s admission stung, striking at his pride and self-confidence. Even after coming all that way, even Jack thought he was dead weight. Noticing Jesse’s sour expression, the old man forced on a smile and placed his hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t mean anything by that, Jesse,” he tacked on, as he finally managed to push himself to his feet, leaning against Jesse’s shoulder for support, “But you’re a little too much like Gabe, in that regard – always charging in blindly. But you should know that doesn’t work. You can’t be so impulsive. Let your demon take the lead, instead. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

“That he does,” Jesse said, trying his best to laugh away the hurt, “It’s only because of him that I made it this far to begin with.” 

He hadn’t truly been expecting a display of joy or gratitude, but for some reason, his oni appeared more sullen than ever, pushing past him and navigating his way back through the tunnels. 

“It shall be due to my efforts alone that you survive longer, still,” Hanzo grumbled, still clearly irritated, “I sense powerful magic ahead of us. We will not be able to avoid a final confrontation.”

“No, we won’t,” Jack agreed, as he and Jesse slowly began to trail after him, “It’s not like Gabe to let his targets go so easily.”

Those words awakened a vague, foggy memory: running through the slums of Santa Fe, with the sound of stomping boots giving chase right behind him, growing louder and faster with each passing second, muffled only by the rush of blood in his head. It was over. With their leaders captured and their main base, overrun, Deadlock was finished. By all means, Overwatch’s leadership could have let stragglers like Jesse go, but that _one soldier_ , the one wielding double shotguns of all things, just _had_ to give chase. 

Tenacious and fierce, he tracked him tirelessly, through warehouses and alleyways, over towering rooftops and down into the murky sewers. 

He just wouldn’t let him go. 

After joining his ranks and working for the man, Jesse came to realize that that was just how Reyes ticked. He was a man of unshakable resolve, willing to run himself ragged and stoop to the lowest of measures before he ever allowed a target to escape. 

…It was for that reason that it didn’t surprise Jesse in the slightest when they found him, waiting for them in the very same room that they’d first reencountered each other in what seemed like another lifetime ago entirely. 

A lifetime of pain, and suffering, and more abject misery than Jesse could have ever imagined.

“ _Reyes_.” Jack turned to him, concerned, as Jesse released his arm, leaving him behind to pick a fight. Though Jesse liked to blame it all on courage, he could tell from Hanzo’s expression when he blocked his advance that the oni only thought him _reckless_.

“You know, Jesse, it didn’t have to end like this.” Reyes’s uncharacteristic despondency, the sheer finality of it all, sent chills down his spine. "You never had anything I wanted. You should’ve just went back home the minute that oni got you out of here.”

“I’m not about to leave Jack here to die.”

“So you risk the oni’s life, instead.” He shook his head, and Jesse could almost imagine that infuriating, mocking expression beneath the stillness of his exposed skull. “Did you know that when a demon dematerializes,” Reyes continued, glancing over to Hanzo, “It releases all of its magic, all at once? I sensed something like that a while back. At first, I thought it was a ghoul or obariyon that wandered into a city like an idiot and got what it deserved, but thinking back, that was too much magic for a demon as weak as that. It had to have come from something stronger. …It was _you_ , wasn’t it? You let the humans turn you into ash for Jesse’s sake.”

Hanzo didn’t take the bait. To his credit, despite the fact that he was irritated at Jesse and the trouble he’d caused him, his oni’s loyalty never wavered. 

“I did,” he answered, with a tone that Jesse could almost call pride.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Reyes quipped back, “I ‘died,’ once, too, when I was first starting out. I didn’t know how to control my magic; I thought I was a lot stronger than I actually was and ended up getting my ass kicked by some no-name demon here in the forest, fighting over territory. I always thought to myself that being a demon was worse than death. But losing your body, losing time and turning into a… a hunk of _rotten meat_ that can’t scream, or move, or do anything but _ache_ , is somehow even worse than living on like this. …Now, because we’re both demons, because we’re ‘brothers,’ I’ll let you walk away. You can sense the difference in magic between us, can’t you? There’s no way you’re getting out of this in one piece.”

Jesse had expected his oni to snap back with one of his dismissive, belittling remarks; Hanzo had always been the prideful type, and at times, it turned him cruel. But instead of fighting back, instead of denying Reyes’s claims, he only closed his eyes and let out a slow, quiet breath. 

“…I know.” 

“Han?” He looked up at the oni’s tired expression, his heart, sinking.

“Morrison-san claimed that when you sensed my approach, you left him to tend to more pressing matters. During my first visit to the forest, I sensed magic surrounding the village, emanating from its inhabitants above and belowground. But there was no such magic during this visit. It had me quite perplexed at first, but I believe that I understand, now: you drained your thralls of their lifeforce, did you not?”

“And Overwatch says oni are stupid,” Reyes chuckled, with a strange, underlying fondness for his fellow demon, “Yeah. I did. _All of them_. So you know this isn’t going to end well for you.”

At that moment, Jesse understood: the more a demon fed, the stronger it became. A newly regenerated demon that hadn’t tasted anything more substantial than blood in over a month would be no match for one that had recently gorged itself on an entire village’s population. Though Jesse knew that he should have been grateful that Hanzo had even agreed to escort him so far, irrationally or not, a part of him felt somewhat betrayed at the fact that the oni hadn’t thought to tell him about his suspicions: about the missing townsfolk and what had happened to them, about his lack of confidence in the upcoming battle. Was Hanzo ashamed that he couldn’t defeat Reyes? 

…Or was he simply trying to ensure that Jesse wouldn’t feel guilty about insisting on going back to rescue his mentor? The fact that Hanzo was attempting to protect his feelings as well as his physical body truly made him realize just how helpless he was in comparison to him.

He was just about to order Hanzo to take Jack and run while _he_ served as the distraction, when the oni answered back with resounding determination of his very own.

“Perhaps I will fall in battle against you, but this is the path that Jesse wishes to follow. This is what he wishes of _me_. And I am never one to disappoint.” Having come to terms with his fate, for better or worse, Hanzo, honorable and proud, had never looked as beautiful as he had at that very moment. Not even when he was five-foot-eight, with long, silky hair and piercing eyes that took Jesse’s breath away. Taken aback in the face of such dignity, all Jesse could do was stare. In awe. In desire. “Similarly,” the oni continued, “I have taken part in what were supposedly ‘impossible battles’ in the past, when ordinary men such as I fought back demons using nothing more than swords and axes. I have been fighting for over four-hundred years. Perhaps I am stronger than you presume.”

“Maybe,” Reyes replied with a playful shrug, holding no personal malice towards Hanzo at all, “I guess we’ll see.”

Jesse didn’t resist when Hanzo gently pushed him back, ushering him towards Jack with the silent order to protect him. Though Jesse drew his pistol, it was only for appearances; he’d run out of demon bone bullets ages ago, and though Hanzo had offered, he wasn’t about to saw off his horns to make more. All Jesse could do, now, was wait on the sidelines with Jack, as he watched his demon charge like a bullet train, just as fast and twice as dangerous. No ordinary human would have been able to dodge his claws, swiping down with startling agility, but somehow, Reyes burst into a plume of smoke the moment he made contact. 

Hanzo didn’t need to breathe. He’d proven that to Jesse during one of his “fishing trips,” when he’d stayed underwater for what must have been half an hour without the slightest consequence. If his chest rose and fell, mimicking the movements, it was only out of habit. Hanzo had no lungs, and yet somehow, that black smoke seemed to suffocate him.

The demon stumbled back, his eyes burning from the haze. He tried to retreat and catch his breath, but before he could escape, Reyes reformed his body right in front of him, with his hand pressed gently over Hanzo’s chest.

“I told you, tío, you should have run.”

A burst of purple light erupted from Reyes’s palm, splattering thick, tarry blood onto the wall. That tiny burst of magic went off with the force of a shotgun blast, tearing through Hanzo’s skin as though it were nothing more than paper. 

Before he could so much as form a single coherent thought, Jesse was trying to rush off towards him, stopped only by Jack’s grip on his arm, shockingly tight for a man so malnourished. “Stay out of it, Jesse. He’s fine. Look –” 

True enough, he could already see the wound regenerating. Hanzo was still well enough to claw at him – or to try to. Despite his relatively small stature for a demon, Reyes could certainly hold his own, grabbing onto Hanzo’s wrist, blocking him. 

The oni was slowly recovering, regaining his speed and composure the longer they fought. But Jesse knew better. Just because Hanzo 'survived didn’t mean that his wounds didn’t hurt. 

When Reyes broke through his defenses, slamming his palm against his stomach, the force of the explosion sent him flying. Pale, bony thorns splintered into glimmering fragments the moment Hanzo’s back hit the wall, shattering his spines. 

Though Jesse knew that he’d get up again, that Hanzo wouldn’t ever, truly die, he couldn’t bring himself to just stand back and watch.

Gathering his courage and ignoring Jack’s protests, he aimed his pistol and fired. The bullets, made of ordinary lead, bounced right off him: flattened little cylinders, hitting something so impossibly hard that they didn’t even leave a dent. 

Though injuring him was never truly the point. With a feigned, melodramatic sigh, Reyes shifted his attention towards Jesse – but more importantly, away from Hanzo.

“I thought even you would’ve known better than to pick a fight you can’t win,” the shinigami scolded, closing the distance between them.

“Oh, I know I can’t. But _Han_ can. All he needs is an opportunity.” Bold as ever, Jesse pulled out his last remaining flashbang grenade. “You still got eyes in that skull of yours, Reyes?”

…Apparently not. He lobbed the grenade, and yet Reyes walked right into it, fearing nothing – until it exploded in a cloud of white dust that froze him in his tracks.

He could hear Jack gasp beside him: a sharp, piercing breath, stunned by just how vulnerable Reyes looked, huddled into himself, struggling to shake off the effects of the grenade. Arm extended, the old man reached for his former partner, taking a single step forward, and then another, eyes wide with fear the entire time, as though needing to see more for his own self-assurance and yet hesitant to truly process the fact that Reyes was suffering. 

“Salt and sacred ash,” Jesse taunted, “Jack’s the one who taught me that recipe. Don’t mean much to a human, but this’ll work on any demon, eyes or not, won’t it? Now’s your chance, Han!”

He’d only be stunned for a few seconds. Following his lead, Hanzo wiped the blood spatter from his eyes before lowering his horns. Though a cut from his claws would have injured any demon, getting impaled directly by an oni’s horns would have been debilitating, even for a shinigami. The heat and the poison would spread like a disease. 

He charged, and for a moment, Jesse could hardly comprehend what happened; it was over so quickly. They were huddled together.

Did he get him? 

Was it over?

With shaking hands, he holstered his pistol and took a deep breath in, before he smelled it: _burning flesh_. 

…But not the putrid scent of a demon’s. 

His eyes darted up, and yet he couldn’t put the pieces together. His mind refused to focus, rejecting reality, frozen in horror. 

The sounds of his mentor’s agonizing gasps burned themselves into his memory – along with the image of Jack impaled on Hanzo’s horns. The sight of his stomach acid, pouring out of his gaping wound and into Hanzo’s hair, before the wounds started to blister, cauterized on impact. 

Crumpled on the floor, pushing himself away as though distance could save him, Reyes stared up at Jack in suffocating silence. The strength seeped away from his bones, leaving him limp, and weak, and breathless. Despite everything he’d done and all of the anger and bitterness that had festered between them for years, at the very last second… Jack had pushed him. 

When Hanzo pulled his horns away, Jesse watched as his mentor - his friend, his guardian, his _father_ \- crumbled to the ground like a ragdoll. And Jesse followed suit, collapsing against the wall, losing his resolve. Losing _everything_.

Never would he have ever guessed that it would be Reyes, of all people, with the strength and the concern to rush to Jack’s side, scooping him up. Cradling him in his lap: a pale, sickly figure, enshrouded by a formless cloud of black. 

“Why the hell did you do that, Jack?” he questioned, his voice, barely above a whisper though the concern, and grief, and anger were so loud as to be deafening, “I would’ve been fine. Demons don’t –”

“Demons don’t die, I know. I’m already kicking myself for it,” Jack joked, even minutes away from death as the poison slowly broke down his body, “The thing is, though… I moved without thinking about it. ..…I always hated watching you fight; you’re so _reckless_. You’d always just…. get yourself beat up… and keep on shooting, knowing your enhancements would heal you. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Always pretending like your wounds, your pain, didn’t matter. I hated that.”

“Didn’t you just nag Jesse for thinking like that?”

“Yeah. But stopping yourself from… from saving someone you care about is easier said than done. When it’s someone you love, it’s hard to be rational.”

Reyes looked away, staring down at a little patch of grass growing on the cave floor. Slowly, he worked up his courage, taking tentative glances at his old companion. Only Jack’s palm, lighting brushing his cheek, returned to him the strength to face reality.

“I wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” the shinigami admitted, taking Jack’s hand in his and lowering it down, to have him save his energy. 

“What things?”

“That you love me. That you wish things could’ve been different. It killed me to hear that, you know? When it was you and me in Switzerland, pointing our guns at each other with the entire base burning down around us. I couldn’t believe you didn’t just shoot me on sight. When you begged me to stop and just come home, making all those promises that we’d work it out, and everything would fine, I got this sinking feeling. Staring you down from the barrel of my shotgun, I know it was weak, but… I regretted it. Everything. For just that split second.”

“You still shot, though,” Jack teased, “Hurt like a bitch.”

“I bet it did,” Reyes replied with a gentle chuckle that Jesse hadn’t heard in decades, “But even though I shot… to be honest, a part of me always wished I didn’t - at least when I was alone at night. Maybe it’s just part of being a demon, but even though I was dead tired, I could never sleep. I’d just… stay up all night, thinking about everything that happened. Thinking about _you_. There were times when I just wished that things could’ve gone back to being… you and me, in the barracks. No matter how much I hated Overwatch and your role in it, Jack, I don’t think I ever really hated _you_.”

Jack let out a quiet sigh of relief. His entire body seemed to relax, the tension, seeping from his bones. That peaceful moment lasted just long enough to fool Jesse into believing that perhaps everything would be alright, after all.

But then a wretched gurgle escaped him, sending him into a coughing fit. Blood and bile erupted from his throat, spewing out onto his torn clothing and splattering onto Reyes’s skull, though the shinigami never so much as flinched. Hanzo’s venom was spreading, liquifying Jack’s internal organs and killing him from the inside-out. 

“Gabe,” he stuttered, barely coherent, “I want you promise me something. I want you to move on. You’re….. You’re going to live for a long time. Maybe forever. I don’t want you to…… spend that time tearing yourself up over…. what you did. Or what could’ve been different. You always do that, you know? You always pretend you don’t give a damn, but….. I could always feel you brooding from across the bedroom……. on your bad days.”

“I can’t do that. It’s my fault that we…” Reyes’s voice grew weak, trailing off, as though losing its confidence, “ _It was my fault_. Not yours.” He slumped over in that gigantic cloak, letting it consume his body entirely – a thick veil of blackness. “You were always meant for better things than scrounging around, getting nowhere with me. I was just so desperate to hang onto you, to keep you with me, that when I saw you drifting away, I couldn’t take it. But you deserved better.”

“Stop talking like that,” Jack practically commanded, silencing him, “Don’t you get it? The thing that I loved about you – the thing that I _still_ love… is that you never looked up to me. ……To everyone else, I was a leader. A soldier. But to you, I could just be… _Jack_.” 

A strange memory flitted through Jesse’s mind, at that moment: a newspaper clipping, laid bare and forgotten on the countertop. A little house in a suburb, circled, with Jack’s handwriting on the page, highlighting the price – a message obviously meant of Reyes’s eyes, and his alone. As high as Jack had risen and as great a man as he had become, larger than life, perhaps the deepest, most intrinsic part of him still longed for normalcy. That had been, after all, what he was fighting so hard to protect. Communities and families. Homes and businesses. 

It never struck Jesse that perhaps he had wanted a piece of that ordinary civilian life for himself. A horrid sense of guilt overtook him. Had he been part of the problem? He’d always idolized the man. He’d always been so quick to defend him. Had he placed Jack on a pedestal without realizing how isolated he’d felt? Or perhaps, in a way, he knew. Perhaps it was obvious all that time, and he just didn’t care to break the illusion. 

Not like Reyes did. 

Though he’d once thought a “brute” like Reyes completely incompatible with a man like Jack, perhaps they had suited each other, in their own special way. Perhaps a part of them _still_ suited each other – or wanted to believe that they did. Though Reyes had hurt him beyond human imagination, though the things that he’d done were unforgivable, at least by Jesse’s standards, it was slowly becoming clear to him, that Jack’s death was never part of the plan. Reyes had never intended to kill him. He hadn’t even come to terms with the possibility of Jack’s death at all.

It was a complex situation: one that he didn’t have the maturity or the insight to handle. That was Angela’s realm. Not his.

So even though he had an entire speech’s worth of words dangling at the tip of his tongue, Jesse kept his thoughts to himself, refusing to intrude on Jack’s last moments with a man that he clearly still loved – whether Jesse approved or not. He watched as Jack melded into Reyes’s grip, slumping down against the crook of his arm. 

Resting his cheek against his chest.

“Everything that happened – it wasn’t your fault,” Jack insisted, “Not all of it. Part of it… was mine. Things don’t just fall apart so suddenly. We saw it coming. We both did. But there was……. complacence, and neglect, and… messed up priorities on both our parts. I don’t blame you. I don’t. So just….. promise me you’ll quit blaming yourself. Promise that you’ll let it go – that you’ll let _me_ go. You still have a future, Gabe. …..Make the most of it.”

“Okay. You got it,” Reyes promised, just like that, as though he would have given Jack the world, at that moment, if he could, “I can’t say I’ll turn myself in to Overwatch, but I’ll leave this place. Maybe I’ll travel around for a while. Take your ashes with me. I can take you to Niagara Falls and the Redwood Forest – and Yellowstone. You were always so excited to see that fucking geyser; you talked about it almost every day when we were younger.”

“You know, I… I forgot all about that,” Jack laughed - a hoarse, tired hiss, “Yeah, we were……. We were supposed to retire, and….. I can’t believe you remembered that.”

“Of course I did. Back then, you were all I ever thought about.”

“Yeah. …Me too.” His voice trailed off, his breath, hitching in his throat. “You know…… growing up with you, Gabe… growing older…… even if it ended up like this…. I’m glad I chose to spend my life with you.”

Drifting away, the old soldier released a weary breath and let his heavy eyes fall closed for the very last time. Reyes never cried for him. He never even called his name. Instead, he was entirely still, kneeling on the damp dirt and holding Jack’s body to his chest as though, despite his threats and his cruelty, he’d never truly expected things to escalate so quickly. 

In a way, he looked lost, almost more than Jesse was. 

A wave of pity washed over him. Despite knowing just what his former mentor was capable of, Jesse couldn’t stop it. He tried to approach him - but Hanzo was at his side almost immediately, barring his progression. 

“Keep your distance,” the oni warned, as cold as ever. Though he’d grown gradually more affectionate towards Jesse over time, the oni remained distant with others, unfeeling to the point of callousness and needless distrust. “He is yet unharmed. At any moment, he may turn and –” 

“And what?” Jesse prompted, unable to hide his disgust, “Attack us? Attack us when he’s down, and when he’s lost his reason for living in the first place? I know you’re the skeptical type, Han, but you need to stop this. Kickin’ a guy when he’s on his knees? That’s just _low_.”

“I am only attempting to remain cautious,” the oni reasoned, never once raising his voice. Instead, Hanzo spoke slowly, trying to calm and disarm him, “He has fair reason to strike against us when I am the one who slew his partner.” 

“Oh, don’t remind me of that,” Jesse snapped, practically growling. He couldn’t stand that calculated tone. With how Hanzo flinched and recoiled as he shoved him, it was almost as though he were pushing a child instead of a demon over twice his weight. “I don’t need you to tell me what you did to Jack when I can _see_ it. You still have his blood on your horns.”

“It was an accident. I –”

“Do you know what your problem is?” he snapped, completely losing his composure as the grief and the sheer, unquenchable _rage_ overwhelmed him, “You are so fucking frigid. You always try to ‘logic’ everything out: it’s a trap, or an ‘ _accident_ ,’ and anyone who can’t see that is… ‘being unreasonable’ or ‘not thinking straight.’ But the thing about human beings, Han, is that sometimes, we just _aren’t_ logical. But that doesn’t make an emotional response wrong. Don’t you ever think about how other people feel? Don’t you care? Because sometimes, to me, it looks like you don’t. I’m sorry if other people’s emotions are an inconvenience for you, but sometimes, you just have to deal with them.”

His oni closed his eyes and shook his head, as though attempting to keep his temper in check. 

“Very well,” he stated in calm, steady, _infuriating_ tones, “What would you like for me to do, Jesse?”

“I want you to _back off_ , okay?” he practically begged, flooded with grief, just barely holding himself together, “Just give me a minute. Both me _and_ Reyes. This doesn’t involve you, alright? I know that you want to be a part of everything I’ve got goin’ on in my life, but to be honest, I don’t want you to put _me_ on a pedestal, either. I don’t want you micromanaging me or always protecting me. I don’t want to be the only thing you care about in the world. Okay? You’re smothering me. I just… I need some distance right now. …I just want to be with Jack and Reyes.”

He couldn’t focus. Not when all he could look at was Jack’s blood on Hanzo’s horns, seeped into his hair and dripping down his face. 

Even so, he hadn’t missed that scowl - nor the sound of Hanzo’s footsteps, trudging away, likely to brood, alone, in the corner, just as he always did. Jesse felt guilty for pushing him away, almost as soon as he’d finished talking, but thankfully, Reyes shifted, mumbling to Jack in quiet whispers and drawing Jesse’s attention away from his own turbulent relationship. 

Tentatively, he drew closer, kneeling beside his mentor-turned-demon. 

“Is he –”

“Yeah. He’s gone,” Reyes answered, so deathly quiet, as though he were afraid that raising his voice would disturb Jack’s rest. Gently, he ran his clawed thumb over his cheek, wiping away the dirt and the grime. “…Forgive myself, huh?” he chuckled, soft and low, “Of course you’d say that. But you know, Jack… I think it was worth it, too. Every minute. I’m glad you didn’t fucking hate me at the end of it.”

“He never hated you,” Jesse answered, crouching beside them, “He was pissed, yeah. And annoyed. And hurt, and betrayed, and disappointed. But he _never_ hated you.”

Reyes glanced at him with what Jesse sensed was a cheeky smile beneath that impassive wall of bone. “I know I acted like I didn’t give a damn, but… honestly, I’m glad to hear it. …I think I can do it, you know? _Let go_. Knowing Jack died at peace, I can… I can finally –” 

His voice trailed off into a quiet mumble, growing weaker and weaker by the second. Breathing heavily, Reyes shuddered. Stunned, Jesse watched as, piece by piece, the shinigami slowly fell apart: his robe, smoldering away into a thick haze and floating shards of absolute blackness. His clawed fingers cracked and fell to the earth, crumbling to dust, though the demon himself showed no signs of distress. 

In fact, from the stillness and calm of his posture, he almost looked… at peace. Just like Jack, cradled in his arms.

“Reyes?” Jesse asked, gripping his hands down onto the shinigami’s shoulders, “Hey, what’s happening to you? Reyes!”

But no matter how he shook him, how he shouted, his former mentor never answered his calls. He only knelt there, chest heaving, as his body dissipated into thin air. 

It couldn’t be.

Jesse’s breath hitched in his chest, threatening to suffocate him from the force of the shock alone. Despite the illogical nature of it all, he had to face the truth: somehow, for the first time in recorded history, through a mechanism that he could never hope to explain… a demon’s curse was lifted. A supposedly immortal being was _dying_. He sat still, staring into Reyes’s face, even as the demon’s shoulders dissolved and Jesse’s hands dropped down into the ether. He watched, entranced, until the last of the smoke cleared away, leaving only a mask in its place: the faceplate of Reyes’s skull, clattering onto Jack’s chest as they both fell back to the earth. Jesse couldn’t help but reach for it, running his hands over the bone. Reyes’s memento. The last testament to the fact that he had ever existed at all. Jesse shivered, staring out at the open air, unable to make sense of what had happened. 

Oh, how little he knew of magic. 

At one time, he’d thought himself a professional – but he understood, now, that there was still wonder in the world. Unexplained mysteries of life and beauty, instead of merely horror. 

When his heart rate finally slowed, quieting down from its deafening thunder, Jesse lifted Jack’s body, resting it against his lap. Despite his wounds, his old teacher looked so peaceful in death – as though he could awaken at any moment. As though soon, he would be cracking jokes and flipping pancakes, bringing his team together again, just as he always did. He was their foundation. The glue that made Overwatch less of a platoon and more of a family. But with him gone, and knowing what he did now about demons, Jesse knew that he no longer had a place within Overwatch’s ranks. 

Not unless they changed. 

Smiling down at his mentor, he picked up Reyes’s mask and placed it into his pouch. At the very least, they could be put to rest together, just as they both would have wanted. There was something cathartic in that thought. Even if it couldn’t dull his sadness, at the very least, it brought him comfort. He’d finally calmed himself just enough to regain some sliver of his composure.

“I, uh… I’m sorry for shouting earlier,” he muttered to Hanzo, though he was still too ashamed at his outburst and too afraid of the consequences to even look at the man. Instead, he huddled into himself, feeling so small, enveloped in the folds of his serape. His voice cracked when he spoke, and yet he pressed on, knowing the importance, now, of reconciling their argument before it spiraled out of control, just like Jack and Reyes’s had, all those years ago. Holding their feelings back and refusing to face reality only bred contempt. “I know what I said, but… I don’t blame you for Jack’s death. I know it was an accident, and it’s not your fault. Really. I was… I was just upset. I lashed out, and I know that wasn’t right, and that I have to do better from now on. I meant what I said about needing some space sometimes, but… we can work on that. I really do love havin’ you here – and I don’t know how I would’ve even started doin’ any of this without you. This is all just… it’s a lot to handle. But, I… I think I’ll be okay, if I have you. …Yeah. I’m ready. Let’s go and bring Jack’s body back to Overwatch. They’ll give him a proper funeral – with honors and everything. What do you say, Han?”

With renewed hope and best wishes for the future, he put on a smile, bright as the sun, and glanced back to await Hanzo’s answer –

But when he turned around, he realized that the oni was gone.

“…Han?” he called, setting down Jack’s body just long enough to take a frantic glance around the room, rubbing at his eyes just to make sure that he wasn’t just seeing things. 

“Han! _Hanzo_!” 

His voice rang out through the empty corridors with resounding finality and a cold sense of true, intrinsic, suffocating emptiness that shook his bones to the very core. His heart sank into the pit of his chest. A crippling wave of nausea rose up from his stomach. His feet felt like lead and gelatin all at once, his limbs, hyperaware to all sensation, and yet Jesse ran through the cave, searching every room, every corner, overturning every last stone, for a glimmer of blood-stained bright gold or the familiar, black ash of Hanzo’s skin. 

Hours had passed. Maybe days. 

Time slowed to a standstill as he searched, and as finally, miserably, he gave up, sitting in a dark room with Jack’s corpse and Reyes’s mask, alone in a cave, forgotten in the center of a cursed forest.


	11. Chapter 11

“ _Jesse_!”

It was Lena’s voice, calling his name: that familiar, enthusiastic shriek that burst through his eardrums and echoed even beyond the ages to signal a bright and hopeful future. Someone pounded on the window of his cell – or at least, he thought they did. His interrogation room was in the middle of nowhere. He must have been hearing things. He’d been there too long: denied food, and water, and even information by the people that he’d once called brothers. They were treating him so cruelly – both him and Jack.

What Overwatch was doing with Jack’s body, now, he didn’t know. 

The Japanese branch hadn’t believed his story: a failed rescue mission and a dead shinigami – but even more unbelievable were his claims of a travelling companion: an oni, nine feet tall and eight hundred pounds. 

An oni who was _Grace_ , in spirit if not in form.

Grace, who set his heart alight, who struggled with the guilt of murdering his brother and who paid for it the only way he knew how: with his life and his honor. Grace, who knew that, at its very core, true love was nothing short of sacrifice. 

He’d woven his tale for them, begged them for mercy, but the Japanese branch had pinned Jack’s murder on him, regardless, condemning him to imprisonment in the very same cell as Hanzo, if and when he was captured. Eventually, the oni’s resolve would break, and he would snap, as demons always did. Forced to devour the man he loved – if the story was true. 

It didn’t matter to the Japanese branch either way. Their problem would be solved: Jesse would be dead, and Hanzo would be trapped, imprisoned underground for the rest of eternity, until the stars went out and time itself lost meaning.

Overwatch was searching for him for just that reason. Every agent in the district, taking up arms and setting forth on a hunt for a particularly lucrative bounty: an oni with black skin and golden horns. An oni who dressed like a man, with a ribbon in his hair and Jesse’s omamori charm pinned to the blue scarf, cinched tight around his hips. 

…Or was Hanzo naked now, covered only in bile and human blood? Or what if he nothing more than a pile of ashes, lost, and scared, and crying for him?

Jesse buried his hands in his hair and _tugged_ , trying in vain to steady his breaths and hold back the panic. He trembled, letting rough, heavy heaves send shivers down his body. He didn’t fear his own death so much as he feared the effect that it would have on Hanzo. 

Would his oni lose himself again?

Would he forget his name? His brother? Would he go back to being a mindless animal, kneeling alone in the darkness?

It broke him to think of it. 

His mind was fracturing. From behind him, he heard the door slam open and what sounded like a dozen sets of footsteps, pour into the room like a deluge. It was only then that he turned around, expecting only the shock of silence and solitude. The room would be empty, just like it had been the first time he’d imagined his friends waiting for him - and the first, the tenth, the _hundredth_ time he’d imagined Hanzo, watching over him from just behind his shoulder. 

So he’d gone into it expecting nothing. Nothing at all.

…But this time, it was _real_.

Zarya threw her arms around him in a suffocating embrace, followed by Lena and Hana close behind. His eyes darted from one face to another. Angela was there in an instant, unlocking the handcuffs that bound him to the table. 

“Wh-What are… Are you guys…”

“Real?” Lena answered, finishing his question for him, “’Course we are!” As if to prove the impossible, she placed her hand in his, letting him squeeze and rub his thumb over her knuckles. “It’s really me. We all came for you the minute we heard about all of this.”

“Heard about what?” he asked, his heart, dropping in the pit of his stomach.

“Everything,” Angela answered, as the group slowly dispensed around the room. Some took seats at the table while others lingered nearby, as though afraid that Jesse would run or simply crumble away to dust in the blink of an eye, “The oni, your theft of Overwatch property, and much, much more. Rest assured, however, that none of us blame you for anything that has occurred since you fled Gibraltar.” 

He breathed out an audible sigh of relief, finally releasing the tension in his body, letting his shoulders slump down and his fists unclench. “That’s good to hear,” he replied, smiling up at her, “I was only doin’ what I had to do. That forest was like a maze, and Reyes? He was one tough son of a bitch, even back when he a normal guy. As a demon though… Without Han there to protect me, I would’ve -”

“Pardon?” Angela asked, leaning closer to him. “Who?”

“Uh… You know. The oni.” Quick to correct himself, he coughed into his fist and tried to play off his mistake as a simple slip of the tongue instead of a betrayal of his demon’s true name. Uttering that name should have been forbidden, but even so, it felt good to recite it aloud, just one more time. 

He could feel the warmth of familiarity of those words, even through the weight of Hanzo absence.

“If it wasn’t for him, hell, I probably would’ve died in the forest.” If he hadn’t gotten lost and perished from exposure, then the villagers would have gotten to him eventually. “He was always there, protecting me. Taking care of me. You know, when I was too damn weak to even lift my arms, he did everything for me. He cooked my meals, and bathed me, and -”

He swallowed around the lump in the throat as the memories came rushing back.

A hulking oni, hunched over a campfire and preparing grilled fish. With meticulous skill, he plucked out the bones one by one with his little pair of bamboo chopsticks – all for him. If he closed his eyes, he could almost picture that ridiculous, toothy grin, as Hanzo held out little bits of meat for him. He’d seen that oni tear a girl’s throat out, and yet when he held a bowl and chopsticks, he was so _dainty_. Hanzo’s manners were impeccable. …His mother would have loved him.

Hanzo never even complained when Jesse couldn’t finish the food that he’d prepared. He didn’t say a single word, even when Jesse suddenly felt sick and retched all over him, ruining the yukata he’d stolen. With love and patience, his oni wet a piece of cloth and wiped his mouth. He’d rubbed his back and soothed him through his sickness.

And when all of it was said and done, he’d carried him to the river and laid him in the water. So far from the city, the night sky exploded into a sea of stars, reflecting down onto the water with startling clarity. 

It was… beautiful. 

So beautiful that a part of Jesse wished that he could stay there forever. 

And then he saw _him_ , staring down at his reflection, that horrible mess of spine and teeth, eyes and horns that glowed brighter than the moon, itself. When one of the fireflies flew towards his light, it fizzled against his horns, turning to smoke. 

Jesse hated seeing him like that: that lonely, defeated expression.

He wrapped his arm around Hanzo’s shoulders and told him the truth: he was more beautiful than all the stars in the sky. If he tugged his serape around himself, he could almost feel the ghost of Hanzo’s embrace.

…God, why had he shouted at him?

Jesse’s vision blurred. He closed his eyes, willing himself to steady his breaths.

“Are you okay?” Mei asked, taking off her jacket and wrapping it around his body, covered in goosebumps – though not from the cold.

“…No. I’m not,” he answered honestly, “After Jack died, I… I lost it. Lost it at _him_. My oni was the one who killed Jack, actually, but it was just an accident. I shouldn’t have said what I did, but… I really let him have it. I just tore into him, and now he’s gone off to God knows where, doin’ God knows what.”

Before Mei could reply with her usual comforting words, Angela ushered. 

“Jesse,” she interrupted, “You speak very fondly of this demon.”

“’Course I do – and I mean every word.”

A concerned expression flashed across her face, and she took a deep breath in – and let it out. “I hope that you do not take offense to this, but… are you familiar with Stockholm Syndrome?”

He shook his head, no. 

“It is a condition in which hostages develop feelings of trust or affection for their captors, as a survival mechanism, or as a method of coping with an ongoing traumatic experience.”

“…What – and you think that’s me and Han? N-No! Hell no!” He blinked back at her in pure disbelief – and likely more, judging by the way that Mei and Lúcio shirked back at his raised voice. “No, that ain’t it at all. The hell’re you talkin’ about? He _saved_ me! Didn’t you read my file? I thought you said you knew everything that went on since I left Gibraltar!”

“I did,” Angela replied in calm, gentle tones, ever the picture of professionalism. She pulled out her tablet, scrolling through the notes in Jesse’s file. “The Japanese branch has graciously granted me security clearance to access all of their reports, but they do not paint a picture of a kind and noble demon, Jesse. Instead, they state that you were first brought to their facility after a confrontation that involved the oni of which you speak. It was the demon that had you taken from Gibraltar – but at some point, it had managed to overpower you and take you hostage. And yet, even after you were rescued by Overwatch, you could not be freed from its influence. You broke into the basement level, stole its urn… and looked after it while it regenerated. Is that true?” 

“He,” Jesse corrected, practically growling, “You mean ‘ _he_.’ He’s a _person_ , with his own feelings and his own life – and he _never_ hurt me. Not once. He never lied to me, or played me, or whatever it is you think he’s done.”

“That oni killed Jack,” Pharah added, taking Angela’s side, as she always did.

“It was an accident!”

As though playing her trump card, Angela threw down her tablet, letting it fall to the table with resounding finality. Jesse’s medical file glared up at him from the screen, complete with pictures: his burnt hand, his chafed thighs, his _penis_.

“Jesse, when the medical staff performed their evaluation of you, they found that the area around your groin was covered in chemical burns indicative of direct contact with a demon’s… excretions.”

“Hold up… Are you asking what I think you’re asking? A-Are you really doing this to me? _Me_ , Angie?” 

The betrayal in his voice shook him to the core. It barely sounded like him – weak, and trembling, and fragile. 

“It is well known that succubi maintain a steady supply of blood by manipulating victims through sex, draining them over a period of weeks to months, but I do not doubt that there are other demons who use this very same tactic. I am not judging you. None of us are. But if you have engaged in sexual intercourse with this oni, then, for the sake of your physical and mental health, I recommend that you –”

“What? Admit that I _fucked him_?”

A paralyzing silence fell over the room, robbing the air from his lungs. All eyes were trained on him – save for the ones that fell to the floor, embarrassed. Mei’s cheeks flushed brighter than his serape. To her credit, Angela never so much as flinched. She only folded her hands, ever the picture of professionalism.

“…Did you?”

He couldn’t believe it: that she’d ever call him out on it, so shamelessly, in front of the entire team. His heart pounded with fear – of being discovered, of living through the stigma. …Though the longer Jesse thought about it, the more he came to realize that he didn’t have anything to be ashamed about. 

So he’d slept with Hanzo.

 _So what_?

It was just sex. Sex with someone that he loved _dearly_. There was nothing wrong with that, was there? Angela, of all people, should have known, considering the difficulty she’d endured, convincing her traditional parents that her relationship with Pharah wouldn’t bring the wrath of God down upon their tiny, little village. 

…But she could never understand, when she didn’t see Hanzo as a person at all, did she? He was just a monster to her. Just a _thing_. The more he thought about it, the more it riled him up, until his incredulity at the entire situation boiled over and burst. 

Jesse slammed his hands down onto the table and stood up so quickly, he sent his cheap, plastic chair skittering back over the broken tile. 

“Fine. I’ll admit it,” he answered, forcing Angela back with every step he took towards her, challenging her, “Yeah, I fucked him. _Twice_. Kissed him, too. I held onto him while I slept and fed him my blood for breakfast. But it ain’t about the sex, Angie. It never was. It ain’t about fear, or survival. It doesn’t make me a _degenerate_ , or whatever it is you’re thinkin’ to yourself. I broke him out of this base, I _chose_ to stay, because I love him. …And he loves me.”

“There where is it?” Angela asked without missing a beat, cutting his heartfelt testimony short. “If this demon loved you, then wouldn’t it have stayed? Wouldn’t it have wanted to protect you while you returned Jack’s body to Overwatch? If the Japanese branch hadn’t found you, lost, in the forest, you very well could have been set upon by demons.”

“I… I don’t know where he is. He ran away – but it was my fault. I said horrible things to him. I _drove_ him away.”

“Jesse, I’m sorry…” Lena said, looking up at him with such sincere pity that it made bile rise up from the pit of his stomach, “I understand that you think you love that oni, but it can’t return your feelings. It’s just a demon. It ran because it already got what it wanted: its freedom – and the death of the only hunter skilled enough to find it. It got the better of you, but it’s okay. You don’t have to be ashamed. It happens to the best of us.”

With his hopes diminishing further and further by the second, he glanced around at worried faces, growing more and more concerned by the seond. He could hear them whispering: that he was sick, or crazy, or spellbound. That Hanzo had seduced him and played him for a fool. 

“…You don’t believe me. None of you do.”

“Demons don’t have feelings. They’re not people,” Mei insisted, though all in that shaky, gentle way of hers that made him question whether or not she really meant what she said. In truth, it was always irritated him: her lack of confidence, her stumbling apologies, _everything_. But until that moment, he’d always admired her kindness enough to overlook it.

“He’s more a person than that _fucking_ robot of yours - and you’ve been leaning on that thing ever since you came back from Antarctica! Well, it’s _that thing_ that doesn’t have feelings. It ain’t your friend, Mei – and it’s never gonna replace your team from the Antarctic branch.”

“Jesse!” Lena looked seconds away from lecturing him, and Zarya? Oh, the look on her face was positively _murderous_.

“Settle down,” Angela scolded, as though overseeing a group of children, “I understand that tensions are high, but in the event of Jack’s death, we need solidarity now, more than ever. We have all suffered through a great loss.”

“We should use this time to come together as a team,” Lúcio added, though Jesse had already made his decision.

“…And what about me?” he asked. 

“Winston’s talking with the Japanese captain. We’ll get your name cleared, and then we’ll all move back to Gibraltar, just like the good old days.”

But of course, things wouldn’t be the same. Not without Jack, running his early morning fitness hour and playing the role of “Team Dad.” Not with Jesse, unable to forget that demons were, at one point, human, just like him. And that somewhere in the world, Hanzo was alive and waiting for him. Or perhaps his oni would forget him entirely in one year, or ten, or surely a century. He would move on. He would find a new human to cherish and hold. He would whisper his sweet nothings in his ear and confide in him all the ghosts of his past. 

The thought of Hanzo with somebody else felt like a knife in the gut, twisting. He couldn’t stop thinking of it – his oni, beckoning another man with that fanged smile, while Jesse sat complacent in Gibraltar, alone in the dark.

“…No. I can’t go back.”

“What do you mean, ‘no?’” Lúcio asked, half-laughing – though he sounded more concerned than anything else, merely masking his uncertainty with a smile, just as he always did, “We’re your family, man! Look, I know you knew Jack better than any of us, and that it’ll be tough for you to come back and see his room empty, but we’ll be there for you. We all will!”

“I know.” He flashed the man a grateful smile, but when Lúcio tried to place his hand on his shoulder, Jesse gently pulled away. “You guys have taken care of me since I was a nobody, runnin’ around with a bunch of criminals. I owe you guys my life for that. I’ll always think of you as family, but the person that I love is missing. Who knows what could be happening to him, right now. I need to find him and take him home. I know you think he’s playing me, but what we had was the real deal. It’s the sappy shit people used to write poems about five hundred years ago, for God’s sake,” he laughed, unable to believe that he had become one of those romantic dreamers that he’d always hated as a rough and tumble gangster, “I never thought that I’d ever find anyone like him – and if I let him go now, I just know I won’t find anyone like him ever again.”

“You’re leaving Overwatch?” Angela asked, her eyes going wide, unable to comprehend such apparent insanity, “You’re leaving us… to track a _demon_?”

“I am.” He didn’t have any doubts in his mind, now. “I know all his old haunts.”

Hanamura. Shimada Castle. Their humble, little cave. The woods where he and Genji used to play, as children – though it had been demolished and turned into a parking structure, in the hundreds of years since Hanzo last saw it. 

“If you are serious about this,” she sighed, “Then let us help you. Allow us to come with you.”

“I ain’t stupid, Angie,” he replied, shaking his head, “You don’t want to reunite us. You don’t believe in saving demons. Hell, if Overwatch found him, you’d be among the first to draw your gun and shoot. Wouldn’t you?”

Clearly, she hadn’t expected him to catch on, or to call her out, if he did. As he turned towards the door, Angela physically blocked his path. She looked ready to call the guards at any moment, though thankfully, Lena slowly pulled her to the side with a simple plea to let him go. 

__________________________________________

_In a lot of ways, life would have been simpler without him. I could’ve gone on fighting without ever knowing that the demons I targeted were just scared and lost like I was, just trying their best to make sense of the world that didn’t make sense, just by the nature of what it was. It’s easier to think of those demons as monsters than people._

_Punishing a cold-hearted killer is a lot more satisfying than locking up a victim who had no choice. But something that I learned from being with H is that doing what feels right isn’t always the same as doing what’s actually right. It’s important to dig for the truth, even when it’s unpleasant and even when the message isn’t really what you want to hear. Maybe it’s especially important in those cases._

_Life really isn’t as simple as it used to be._

_But in a lot of ways, it’s better._

_It’s opened doors to a better understanding of this world and the people and demons in it. Last night, I met a demon and invited her inside. For the price of a little bowl of blood, she told me her story: she told me about mistakes that any of us could have made, and hurt feelings and misunderstandings that any of us would have had, in her position. It was hard not to judge her or jump to conclusions. I wanted to, but I think it matters that I didn’t._

_It’s one of the better traits that I’ve been trying to learn from H. His patience. His maturity. He never spoke as much as he listened. Now, I’ve worked with a lot of bosses who were just as smart and capable as he is, but those lessons that they tried to teach me were never as poignant as they were, coming from him._

_Because as much as he was like them, he was different._

_He wasn’t a war hero or a doctor. Hell, he wasn’t even that good of a guy, at first glance. No, H was a criminal, by circumstance and by choice. He’d done horrible things. Things that a lot of people would find unforgiveable._

_But I have to ask, what means more?_

_To go your whole life without making a single mistake, or to dedicate that life to making up for one?_

…He wondered.

Jesse flipped the page on the third edition copy of his manuscript before leaning back in his seat. Though he’d skipped breakfast that morning, he knew Japanese business customs by heart, now, refusing to place an order before his distinguished guest arrived at the cafe: a historian – one who researched Shimada Castle. 

He’d long ago traded his sword for the mighty pen, going so far as to change even his name for the sake of furthering his agenda. To all but those who knew him best, Jesse McCree was Joel Morricone: a maverick writer who wove a fantastical tale of demonology and unorthodox romance, and who, more importantly, dared to brand it as truth. It was a best-seller, despite the efforts of schoolboards and governments everywhere to ban his book from circulation. Nowadays, however, even global authorities couldn’t stop the power of the internet. His manuscript had leaked, and soon enough, everyone had read it. 

The truth was out there for all to see, and though little had changed, at least _something_ had. People were asking questions: were demons once human? If they were, who were they? If demons were inherently evil, then why did Morricone’s book describe stories from people just like them? If demons were once ordinary humans, then was an effort to save them not worth taking? 

Jesse was proud of his work, though not because of the royalties or the fame – or infamy – that it gave him, but because of the nature of the book itself. It was his repentance. An ode to the man that he loved. An effort to immortalize him in ink and paper, even if simple words could never hope to capture the essence of a man who shined as brightly as he did. 

Now, five years after the publication of his first book, it was time to write a second – though perhaps it would never be ready to hit the shelves. Not when the information contained within its pages was so personal.

Finally, his guest arrived, lugging his briefcase, containing all of the documents that Jesse had requested. He tucked his book away before they made their introductions and got to work: interviewing, checking facts, scrutinizing photocopied script and old, faded maps. 

“The Edo period, huh?” Jesse asked with a sense of forlorn wonder that made his heart ache, “Or the end of it, anyway.”

“You can take a look for yourself, if you’d like,” the historian offered, handing Jesse a copy of an old scroll, depicting the Shimada family tree. He unfurled it with quiet reverence, handling it more carefully than he did even the Bible, back when he still attended church with his sister, parents, and even his old abuelita by his side.

Even after living in Japan for quite some time, Jesse understood almost nothing of the language; he always was a slow learner, forever cursed to underperform where academics were involved.

In fact, he could recognize only four characters.

島田半蔵

Shimada Hanzo. 

“…There. Born in 1816.”

A priest at his altar, Jesse traced his finger over the characters, instilling his hopes and unspoken prayers in every stroke. He whispered the name: strength and dignity. Five simple syllables that never before sounded as beautiful as they did in his voice, clumsy and accented. 

It was fitting, in a way.

For Hanzo never was as beautiful as when he was _his_.

“You seem to have quite the fascination with Shimada Hanzo,” the historian said, “I can’t help but ask: what does that man have to do with your research, Morricone-san? I can’t imagine that a yakuza clan would be of any particular interest to a demonologist.”

“Well, that’s where you’d be wrong. I did a little research of a my own before coming here. I don’t know any of the details, but I heard that the Shimada family had strong spiritual ties; that they knew a spell that could summon dragons.” 

“I’m surprised you knew of that. It’s quite the rumor, though nobody has ever been able to prove it. Supposedly, that spell’s incantation was passed down from generation to generation by word of mouth. Its rune, condensed into a tattoo.”

Jesse thought back to the image of Hanzo’s human form in what felt like a lifetime ago: holding him, collapsed on the dungeon floors of Watchpoint Gibraltar. The whispers of forbidden magic echoed beneath the dragon tattoo on his left arm. 

That memory brought with it both a lingering sorrow and a warm sense of longing.

“So that spell is lost forever, then,” Jesse asked, keeping the conversation going if only to stop his thoughts from drifting off to better days, “Since the bloodline is dead.”

“…Not necessarily.”

Jesse perked up at that, straightening his back and giving the historian his full attention. He grabbed his pen and notepad, eager to jot down any book-worthy notes about the Shimada Clan, about the time period - 

About _Hanzo_. 

“What do you mean by that? Hanzo was never married. He was single his entire life; he died a virgin! I mean… didn’t he? He, uh… was… a virgin.” 

He coughed into his fist and mumbled out a quiet apology when the historian shot him a glance that was equal parts confused and disturbed at the overflowing passion in his voice. If only he’d known the truth, he wouldn’t have blamed him. 

Somehow, Jesse liked to imagine that Hanzo was his, and his alone. 

“Well… I don’t know whether he ‘died a virgin,’ and, frankly, I don’t understand the significance of that claim, but our records do indicate that Shimada Hanzo sired no children. His _brother_ however...” 

“Hold up – Genji?” Jesse let out a curt, incredulous huff, tossing the copied scroll back onto the table, “Didn’t Genji die before the elders could arrange his marriage? I thought Hanzo was the one who executed him.”

“He was. Under orders from the clan’s elders, Shimada Hanzo turned his sword against his own brother – but the boy survived,” the historian revealed, producing a series of letters bearing Genji’s seal.

“What are you talking about? From the stories that Ha – that… _my sources_ told me, Hanzo really did a number on his brother. Carved him up like a Christmas ham. No way anyone could survive that.”

“Not on their own,” the historian corrected. “But Genji was well-liked amongst the servants in his household. The diary of a young maid reveals that many of the girls were smitten with him; he was quite a womanizer. When Hanzo ordered them to dispose of his body, they instead smuggled his body away to a nearby temple, where he was placed under the care of a wandering monk: one Tekhartha Zenyatta.”

“And… this ‘Zenyatta’ guy managed to save him?” 

“Oh, he did more than that. He took Genji under his wing for many years. They grew rather fond of each other; Genji followed his mentor to Nepal and blossomed under Zenyatta’s tutelage. He would return to Hanamura and the Shimada-gumi only years later, as a wise and patient leader. He even forgave his brother.”

Jesse rolled his cigar, chewing at one end as the other steadily burned away, neglected. It made sense, if he thought about it. The pieces fit together. …But there was one part of the story that bothered him. 

“If Genji survived to lead the Shimada clan, then why is his shrine in the garden? I thought all the urns of the clan’s leaders were stored together in the family crypt, underground.”

“They are - and Genji’s urn lies among them. …The garden shrine of which you speak belongs to Shimada _Hanzo_.”

That moment was almost surreal. Modern, Japanese pop music echoed from the café speakers, though all Jesse could hear was that ringing in his ears, growing in intensity as his thoughts raced like a whirlwind, struggling to come to any meaningful conclusion at all.

“But Hanzo was the one who built that shrine.” 

“Originally, yes, but it was torn down shortly after Hanzo’s death. You must understand, Morricone-san, that customs were different, back then. By taking his life in such a crude fashion, Hanzo brought great shame upon the Shimada-gumi. He was not even granted the privilege of a shrine – or even a funeral. His body was stripped of its clothing and left out for the demons. …But upon discovering his brother’s fate years later, Genji took pity upon the man. He rebuilt the torn shrine and dedicated it to his brother, so that his restless spirit could find its way home.”

“Oh, Han…” 

As though losing even the strength to hold himself upright, Jesse slumped in his seat, resting his face in his hand and tangling his fingers through his messy hair. From his one, barely opened eye, he could see the historian’s expression shift from confusion, to shock, to quiet understanding. Though he surely knew the truth, the man only smiled, refusing to say a single word. 

With a gentle nod, he packed up his papers, paid the bill, and left Jesse to his thoughts, alone.

__________________________________________

He laid out his candles and prayed, not for himself, but for Hanzo. 

For his restless spirit to find its way home, back to the shrine that his brother had built. …And back to _him_. His little plate of daifuku sat in the corner, though Jesse had also offered a bowl of his blood, just in case. Surely, he’d tasted enough of it to track the scent, by now. 

He clasped his hands together, and he _prayed_. He prayed until his knees ached.

That historian was more influential than he’d thought. The man cleared out the entire museum and even allowed Jesse access to Hanzo’s forgotten belongings in an effort to summon his spirit. There was no incantation. No spell. There was not even a single record of a successful manifestation of a magical being recorded in human history.

But still, he tried. 

Hanzo’s little toy wolf, carved from wood, stared back at him from the shrine. His golden ribbon, faded and moth-eaten, hung gently from his altar.

And his bow – Jesse had never seen such a beautiful weapon, clearly beloved by its owner. That bow was lain before him, positioned on its mantle. With all of those offerings, surely Hanzo would find his way home.

…Wouldn’t he?

He thought of him and prayed. He prayed until the sun went down and through the night, past the rise and fall of the moon. 

It felt, to Jesse, as though eons had past, when in reality, Hanzo came to him within a single night. At dawn, the smell of rot and burning flesh penetrated through the cracks of the makeshift shrine. Though Jesse knew he was right behind him, separated only by a flimsy, wooden door, that barrier felt, at that moment, like the gates of hell, themselves. 

_Impenetrable_.

He’d been chasing him for years. Watching. Waiting. Only now, when he was so close, did Jesse lack the courage to run to him.

“…Jesse.”

That voice restored the strength in his spirit, breathing warmth into his frozen body. Though he was terrified that he was only hearing voices, though a part of him expected that he would open that door, only to reveal the empty air, Jesse swallowed around the lump in his throat, gathered his courage, and creaked the door open, millimeter by millimeter. 

Brighter than the dawn itself, the light of Hanzo’s horns flooded the room like a wave, filling him with a sense of long forgotten warmth: the coming of spring in a cold and bitter winter. He stood on shaking legs, numb from endless hours of prayer. Though he stumbled and faltered, he pressed ever forward into the light, to throw himself into his arms, careless and free.

He didn’t know Hanzo’s intentions, and he didn’t care. His demon could have torn him apart, and he would have thanked him for the privilege. 

“You came back,” he whispered over and over again, repeating the words like a mantra. If he recited it enough, it would make it real. He would open his eyes, and Hanzo would still be there, in his arms. “Oh, thank God you came back…”

“I came back for _Genji_.”

Hanzo’s words, cold as ice, cut him deeper than even an arrow from his bow. His sunlight faded, shrouding him in darkness.

“…Wh-What? What are you talking about? You heard my prayers, didn’t you? You came back for _me_!”

“On the contrary. I overheard your conversation with the historian – or broken fragments of it. Enough to know that my brother was mentioned quite frequently.” Hanzo’s senses were strong, though they had their limitations. “In truth… I have been watching over you from a distance for quite some time,” the oni admitted, though with a hesitance that made Jesse’s heart ache, “Though I am well aware that it is a poor habit. I should be above such earthly attachments. …I should be above _you_.”

“No!” he pleaded, clinging onto his robes.

“You stated, Jesse, that you had grown tired of my interference in the events of your life. You wished for your ‘distance,’ and I have provided it.”

“Fuck, this wasn’t what I wanted! I was just… I didn’t mean what I said. I didn’t.”

“You did at the time. You are a man who speaks his mind, Jesse. It is one of your most charming traits and yet, in its own way, one of your greatest faults. You act before you think,” Hanzo scolded, sounding like a salty old fishwife, all over again – though this time, Jesse cherished it: that scathing tone and proud posture.

“I know. I know I fucked up. But if you give me another chance, I promise I’ll -”

“I do not desire any more of your promises, Jesse. I only wish to hear the truth about my brother. All of it.”

Though he couldn’t hide his disappointed, though he wanted nothing more than to pull Hanzo aside and never let go, he swallowed his pride and relented. His oni deserved to know the truth – whether he came back to him or not. Jesse explained it as best as he could, though in time, he cracked, overcome by the desire to win him back. Jesse stumbled over his words. He wept like a fool, as Hanzo looked down upon him with that steely gaze - though if Jesse looked closely, perhaps he caught a flash of pity. Either that, or he was hopelessly desperate.

Perhaps both.

To his credit, Hanzo never interrupted him; he allowed him to explain Genji’s story at his own pace. To catch his breath when he needed to and to simply take his time, now and then, to just… look at him. 

He wanted time to stop. 

As hard as he’d prayed for Hanzo, earlier, he now prayed to God, to freeze time for the both of them and give him just a little while longer, another five minutes, another five _years_ , just to _look at him_.

“My brother built this shrine,” Hanzo echoed, “He built this shrine for _me_.”

“You’ve been beating yourself up for centuries, but Genji forgave you ages ago. He loved you.”

“…I see.” Though Hanzo tried to keep his composure, Jesse could see how weary he’d grown – his brow ridge furrowed and his shoulders twitched. It looked as though that hulking creature was moments away from crumbling like the statue of Ozymandias. 

“He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself for attacking him. He forgave you. He moved on. He started a new life with friends, and a teacher – and a _wife_. He had two kids with her, Han: two great kids. …Hell, you know what he named his son?”

“Stop this,” the oni sighed, turning away, as though unable to tolerate another word.

“ _Listen_. Maybe he hated you for a time, but your little brother grew up. He grew up, and he let it go. He built this shrine for _you_. He let your name live on with his son. …He’d want you to move on.”

“Like Reaper?” he asked, with a quiet chuckle, both mournful and amused, in its own, morbid way. He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “…Jesse,” he continued, his voice, gentle. When he looked at him, next, his cold expression had melted away, revealing the old, tender warmth that he come to know from those bright white eyes. “If I enter that shrine, if I come to understand and surround myself with the blessings that my brother has wished upon my spirit, then my soul will be cleansed. I… will not emerge. Will I?”

“…No. I don’t suppose you will.” 

He took a long, forlorn look at the shrine before shifting his glance over his shoulder to Jesse, if only for a moment. “I see. Then I owe you my gratitude.” 

He bowed low, and when he rose, their eyes met. It lasted only a brief second, and yet that connection between felt as though it lived for ages, invoking a deep understanding, a lingering imprint, in Jesse’s soul that would remain with him even after his death. Before Hanzo could reach for the door, Jesse’s hand shot out, grabbing onto him weakly – and yet with more force than a vice, all the same.

“Stay with me.”

“Jesse, I am tired,” he admonished, though he never moved Jesse’s hand. Instead, Hanzo only shook his head, looking at him with a patient smile, “I will always cherish our time together. Know that I forgive you for all of the… _trouble_ that you have caused me. When all is said and done, you have given me the pleasure of one final adventure. I look back on even our arguments fondly, now.”

“Then _stay_. Stay, and let’s make new memories just like it. Let’s make _better_ memories. Look, I know it’s selfish,” he added when Hanzo only chuckled, clearly humoring him, “I know I don’t have any right to ask you this, after everything I said when you were going out of your way to help me, but… _I love you_. I’ve loved you for the past six years. More than anyone I’ve ever known and anyone I ever _will_. I wrote a book for you. I’ll do more. Let’s live proudly from now on. No more fake names, no more aliases, let’s just… let’s live openly, in your old home town, _together_. You can use your old name again: Shimada Hanzo. If anyone tries to use it against you, I’ll protect you. I’ve brushed up on my wards. I can do this.”

“I know that you can,” Hanzo replied, finally, _finally_ pulling away from that doorway, “You have grown strong during my absence.”

“I trained. If you ever forgave me and came back, I wanted to be someone worthy of you.”

“You always were. …And it is for that reason that you should return to Overwatch and forget about me.”

Before Hanzo could turn back to the shrine, Jesse slid between his body and the doorway, scratching himself on the demon’s spines in the process, just to block the door. It was a ridiculous sight; Hanzo could have shoved him aside with no effort at all, if he’d wanted to. 

But of course he wouldn’t. His demon’s smile, soft and warm, blended into the gentle fall of sakura blossoms.

“Jesse, please do not misunderstand my intentions: it warms my heart to hear you speak of the life you had planned for the two of us. Perhaps in another life, we could have turned it into a reality. Even now… a part of me wishes that we could. But I am a demon. You have no future with me.”

“You’re wrong.” Taking Hanzo’s hand in his, Jesse cradled his claws, rubbing loving circles against his knuckles, teasing along the edges of his spines, “A future without you isn’t one worth having.”

Though he surely knew their time was limited, though he knew, from past experience that they would make mistakes again and again, Hanzo stepped away from his shrine and returned to him for good, leaning down to press rough, black lips against Jesse’s mouth in a kiss as warm and rich as bloodied carrion in summertime.

“Remember to treat me well from now on,” the oni teased, breathing smoke against his ear, “Though I am guaranteed to outlive you, the degree to which I do remains… _negotiable_.”

“Yes, Honey Cakes, I understand,” Jesse agreed, with his hands raised in mock surrender. He couldn’t stop smiling as he led him out of the garden and through the gates of Shimada Castle, indifferent of who saw them walking proudly, hand in hand.


	12. Chapter 12

It wasn’t a perfect arrangement.

All the love in the world couldn’t change Hanzo’s nature, despite the effort he’d put into repressing it. There were occasions when he would vanish from his shared home with Jesse for days or even weeks at a time, running off to parts unknown and leaving his human lost in limbo.

But no matter how long he wandered, Hanzo would slink back through their doorway eventually, with a tired, defeated expression.

He couldn’t help but answer the call of the hunt, mindlessly stalking his prey through village roads or chasing them through the forest - though no matter how close he came to the kill itself, in the end, when Hanzo raised his claws, he would catch a glimpse of the titanium wedding band that Jesse had crafted for him… and at the very last second, every time, he refused to take the bait. 

…But, _oh_ , he wanted to.

His heart raced. Eyes wide. His spines, quivering in anticipation. 

The only thing that held him back was his love for Jesse. The fear of earning the human’s disappointment - and the knowledge that preying upon the populace would only complicate the fragile little homeostasis that he and his human had just barely managed to establish for themselves in the village of Hanamura. 

Co-habitation with ordinary humans was difficult enough as it was. 

Their home smelled like a mass grave – and even Hanzo could not deny that it looked like one. They spent an inordinate amount of money on meat, large cuts, not to serve as food, but a _distraction_. Hanzo would rake his claws through the flesh, tearing it to ribbons and grating against the bone. Meat tainted by a demon’s poison could never be consumed; they needed a dumpster for it. 

On hot, summer days, the scent of rot and death burst through the cracks of their home and flooded out into the neighboring streets. Jesse had faced eviction time and again because of it: for daring to harbor a demon, for promoting immoral practices, for engaging in _sodomy_. They’d had to pack their bags and move more times than Hanzo could count. On top of that, Jesse spent an inordinate amount of time scrubbing the graffiti from their walls, all crude drawings and profanities aimed against the infamous, resident “demon-fucker.” Hanzo was tempted, at times, to isolate the scent from those discarded cans of spray paint and track its trail through the city, but Jesse always stopped him.

It wouldn’t be right, he’d claim; people were just afraid. They didn’t deserve death or retribution – or whatever “vengeance” it was that Hanzo intended to exact upon them. Hanzo didn’t give a damn: not about the vandals, or their families, or humanity in general. What he cared about was _Jesse_. _His_ wellbeing. And no one else’s. He would have sent the village crashing down if only his human wished it of him. 

But instead, Jesse kept his nature at bay, culling the call of the void through honeyed words and gentle touches - and when even that wasn’t enough, by stocking a specialized fridge full of IV bags, fresh from Overwatch’s blood bank. Sometimes, if Hanzo was lucky, Jesse would even negotiate the procurement of an infected limb or cancerous organ, delivered by the woman called ‘Mercy,’ with a disappointed shake of her head, every single time.

Not that Hanzo cared about her judgement, either, even when it was clear that Jesse did. 

He crunched into the bone and pretended it was her, and for just a split second, he could trick himself into believing the marrow was sweet. But always, _always_ , he could taste the infiltration of disease in time. 

Fetid flesh just wasn’t the same. It was cold and lifeless. The meat never quivered beneath him in the familiar pain and flooding terror that set his dead heart beating a thousand miles a minute _and made him feel alive for once in his wretched life_.

Hanzo wanted _more_.

He’d shattered every dish in the kitchen again, tearing the cupboards from the walls and battering his horns against the sink until it burst, shooting pressurized water through the air like blood, bursting forth from a torn artery. 

Every moment of his life was _hell_ , when he lived it according to human standards. 

Out of frustration, he snarled, baring his fangs at even Jesse, when he tried to approach him.

“Shh…. It’s alright,” the former hunter reassured him, even when Hanzo could smell his fear, “I get it, Han. I understand - it’s hard. I’m askin’ a lot of you, and you ain’t gettin’ much in return. You’ve had to sacrifice a lot in order to live here, and… and you’re not happy. I get it. You’re hungry, and… you want to hunt. You want to be a _demon_. Those feelings are real; I ain’t tryin’ to belittle them. …But those feelings are also temporary. Eventually, you’ll come to your senses, and you’ll remember that this is the town you grew up in. This is the town Genji wanted you to come home to. You don’t want to throw that away, do you?”  
“You do not have any right to lecture me when the cause of my hardships is the fact that I am wearing _your_ collar!”

“I know.” Hanzo was just about to snap at him with a lecture of his own, when, with fear in his eyes yet with heartfelt resolve, Jesse slowly bared his arm and held it up like an offering to the gods. “…And I’m sorry. I know the only reason you don’t hunt is because of me. I know I’m making your life difficult. So if you need meat, Han, if you need _fresh_ meat… then take mine.”

He lurched forward, eager. For a split-second, he imagined the _crack_ of Jesse’s bones between his jaws, the warmth of his blood, seeping through his teeth. The grain of the muscle, the resistance, the _screams_ – 

…But for the first time since they’d moved into their new home, the thoughts of human agony filled him not with excitement but with dread. 

Dread, when the voice belonged to Jesse. 

How could he even consider doing such a horrible thing?

“G-Go on, Sunshine,” Jesse encouraged, pressing his arm up until it grazed Hanzo’s teeth, “Go on. It’s okay.”

“…No.”

He forced himself to turn away, to look back upon the destruction that he’d caused, ruining their home. And Jesse? With his adrenaline bleeding away, Jesse shook like a leaf. The man collapsed down against the tile, his legs, turned to jelly. Though he didn’t say a single word, Hanzo could sense the sheer relief coming off of him in waves.

“I, uh… I guess we’re gonna have to find a new apartment.” Jesse’s forced, awkward laughter left a hole in his heart – and at that moment, the guilt almost managed to swallow him whole. 

“Jesse, I must apologize.”

“No, no,” the human insisted, finally pushing himself to his shaky feet. Despite the veritable trauma he’d just endured, when Hanzo approached him, he didn’t pull away. Completely trusting, Jesse leaned into his oni’s grasp, letting Hanzo hold him up. “You didn’t do anything wrong. People have killed each for food. Multiply that hunger by a thousand times, and with a body like yours, when you snap, it’s just… bigger.”

“On the contrary, I should know better,” Hanzo retorted, “I should hold myself to higher standards.”

“No, you don’t. You’re a starving man with food right in front of you, and here I am, orderin’ you not to touch it. I understand why you’d get pissed.”

“…Why do you allow me to do these things?” Hanzo asked with an incredulous yet grateful sigh, as he turned off the sink and cleared away just enough rubble to lead Jesse out of their devastated kitchen and back into their shared bedroom, “Why do you make these excuses on my behalf?”

“Because they’re _not_ excuses. Anybody in your situation would do the same. Nobody’s perfect, Han. …You’re only human.”

He smiled back at him, nuzzling the base of his horns against Jesse’s shoulder. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel the warmth of his human’s love for him, evident in the gentle strokes of fingers in his hair, the gentle kiss against his forehead.

And Hanzo realized, then, that he felt more alive with Jesse, at that very moment, than he ever had, with prey pinned beneath him. 

In the morning, they endured their landlord’s angry tirade, paid for the damages, and packed their belongings into a trailer. They couldn’t afford a truck – though one wasn’t truly necessary, in their situation. 

“So, where to now?” Jesse asked, sitting on the roof of the trailer and watching people stare, “Where _haven’t_ we rented yet?”

“Perhaps we should simply purchase a house,” Hanzo suggested, as he tugged their trailer through the streets of Hanamura. Jesse made a little gesture with his hand, and Hanzo turned left, past little armored vehicles and gawking pedestrians. 

“I, uh… I don’t think I have enough money for that, Sunshine.”

“Demon bone fetches a high price in the market, correct?”

“Pumpkin, _no_.”

“Take my horns to Overwatch, Jesse. They have grown proudly, through the trials of our adventure together. Let them pave the foundation of our new home.”

“But you love your horns!” Jesse said, “Don’t think I don’t see you, preening in front of the mirror, sharpening those things.”

“They will grow back.”

“But if you’ll don't ever hunt again, they’ll never get any longer than six inches, maybe.”

“I thought that you were the one insisted that size did not matter.”

Jesse cringed, though he smiled all the same. 

“…I guess you got me, there.” When they stopped at a red light, Hanzo took a moment to rest, sitting down against the concrete and leaning back against the trailer. Jesse leaned over, carding his fingers through his hair. “You sure you want to do this? Not just cuttin’ off your horns, I mean, but becomin’ _home owners_? You and me? The McCree-Shimada clan?”

“I cannot believe that I am doing this,” Hanzo reflected. Though the light had long since turned green, nobody dared to honk at him. Instead, the other cars politely changed lanes, weaving around the infamous oni of Hanamura – and the man that he loved. “When we were boys, Genji used to tell me that if I never learned to relax, then I would spend the rest of my life alone… ‘polishing my katana.’” 

Their combined laughter echoed through the warm, summer air, as Hanzo finally decided to pick himself – and the trailer – back up, carrying it towards their next destination, wherever it may be.

“He’d be proud of you,” Jesse said, lying back against the roof and letting the sun warm his face. 

He really would have been. 

He could almost imagine Genji, with his silly grin and his ridiculous, grass-colored hair, surprising him with a hug from out of nowhere, just like he used to. He would have liked Jesse – but above all else, he would have liked the fact that Hanzo had found companionship in him. 

That he had grown and left the past behind, in favor of looking towards the future. A better future. One that he crafted with his very own hands, clawed or not.

“Do you truly believe that he would be proud?” 

“’Course I do,” Jesse replied, with a tenderness and love that put his spirit at peace, “…God knows I am.”

_____________________________________

“Are you ready for your morning constitutional?” Hanzo asked with a charming, toothy smile, as he folded Jesse’s laundry with meticulous precision, careful not to tear into the fabric. When he’d taken over all of the household chores, he’d experienced quite the learning curve. An oni’s hands were better suited to tearing throats than clipping coupons. 

He was a better hunter than he was a chef, though Jesse seemed to enjoy the bacon and eggs that he’d prepared, regardless – not that his human would ever complain, if he didn’t. 

Jesse was so conscientious.

Hanzo let half a minute pass with no response from Jesse, before he took a quick glance out the doorway and repeated his question. 

“…Jesse?”

“Sorry, Sweet Pea, did you say somethin’?” his human asked, poking his head out from behind his newspaper.

Hanzo coughed into his fist, clearing his throat. When next he spoke, his voice boomed through their humble little home, practically shaking the windows. “I was only wondering if you would care to take a walk to the park after breakfast. It is a beautiful day.”

“That it is. Nice to see some sunshine after all the rain we’ve been getting,” Jesse agreed, folding up his paper before stacking up his dirty dishes. Before he could walk them to the sink, however, Hanzo rushed to his side and took them himself, refusing to let Jesse lift a single finger.

“I can do my own dishes, Han,” he teased, though he didn’t bother to get up from his seat at the table, knowing full well that Hanzo would have insisted, “…Thanks, though.”

“It is my pleasure, Jesse.”

Hanzo did everything for him, nowadays: cooking, laundry, cleaning, shopping, and much, much more. At the very least, being forced to pay the bills had taught Hanzo the joys of using the internet. He liked to play online mahjong on the little tablet that Jesse had gifted to him for the holiday that Americans called “Christmas.”

Hanzo rather liked Christmas.

He liked the presents, and the lights, and Jesse’s festive mood – but his favorite holiday would always be Hanamura’s very own cherry blossom festival, dating back hundreds of years, before even Hanzo was born. He glanced out the window at the falling, pink petals, whipping about in the wind, and thought of Jesse. How would his old bones fair, in such chilly weather?

“Perhaps you should bring your serape, to shield yourself from the cold,” Hanzo said, watching as Jesse’s wrinkled eyes went wide. 

“My serape? You kept that old thing?”

“Of course I did.” Hanzo made his way over to the laundry room and dug up a box of dusty old items, impractical and yet too sentimental to be placed for donation. “I kept your serape and your spurred boots. Even your old pistol.”

“Oh, doesn’t that bring back memories…” Jesse sighed with quiet reverence, as he shuffled closer, his walker, clacking against the polished wooden floor. Jesse looked so excited – more than the oni had seen him in years. Nowadays, the only part of his old hunter’s gear that he wore was his hat. In his old age, his serape was too heavy for everyday use. His chaps, too cumbersome. He had no need for armor or weapons in retirement – especially not with Hanzo there to defend him. One look through the window of their little house, one single glimpse of the demon that resided inside, would be enough to deter even the most daring of burglars. 

Jesse reached for Peacekeeper with his bony, wrinkled hand and twirled that revolver just like he did in the good old days – though he couldn’t do it for long. Soon enough, he had to abandon his gun on the washing machine. With a pained hiss, he squeezed at his fingers, rubbing the life back into them. Arthritis made it difficult for him to do much of anything, nowadays, if it required precision. Even dressing himself was a daunting mission that could take half an hour, if he was lucky, and even longer than that, if he wasn’t. 

Hanzo was the one who dressed him in the morning, now: adjusting his suspenders, buttoning his shirt.

Jesse smiled up at him as Hanzo draped his serape over his shoulders, pulling him close.

“I still can’t believe you kept this junk.” 

“They embody my memories of you as a young man, along with our photo albums.” Though Hanzo never appeared on film – just an odd, black blur of spiritual energy floating beside Jesse. “I would like to have them stored in my shrine before my final journey.”

“Yeah. …Not much longer now, huh?”

They never spoke of it. Not plainly. It was a bit of an open secret: when Jesse passed, Hanzo would lose his sole reason for living. With nothing left in the world, the old, tired oni would finally enter the shrine that his brother had built for him, all those centuries ago. He would bury old ghosts, release his grudges, as best as he could, and finally leave the human world behind. Only his memories of Jesse could call him back to the mortal realm – though Hanzo knew better than to let those memories chain him to it. 

Jesse wouldn’t have wanted him to spend eternity, weeping over his grave. 

“Nonsense,” Hanzo insisted, “We still have plenty of time together.”

“We better, considerin’ all the pills I have to take,” his partner joked, as he carefully traded his house slippers for his outdoor, slip-on shoes. Before Jesse could open the door, Hanzo rushed to load up the bags attached to his walker. Snacks and water bottles, medicine and extra boxers – and Jesse’s spare pair of dentures.

“Be careful going down the steps,” Hanzo reminded him, even as Jesse brushed off his concerns.

“I’m fine, I see them,” the old man laughed, though Hanzo gripped onto his arm, regardless, gently lowering him down. “…Thanks, though. God knows I’d be dead a thousand times over if it weren’t for you.”

“You most certainly would be.”

Even as an old man, his Jesse had a penchant for trouble. His hearing was fading, so he often missed car horns – and though he hated to admit it, the old man’s vision wasn’t much better. He’d wandered off into alleyways and random buildings when Hanzo wasn’t looking. Worst of all, Jesse refused to wear his glasses, always insisting that they made him look like a fool. 

Hanzo didn’t understand. 

…But he also didn’t push the issue. Instead, he was more than content to play the role of a seeing-eye-oni, clearing a path for his human to walk as best as he could.

Side by side, they slowly made their way through the streets of Hanamura. Jesse’s old, familiar hat, though worn by the ages, shielded him from the light of the sun – as did Hanzo, always careful to protect him from the elements, rain or shine. Neighbors and shopkeepers alike waved at them as they passed, the stigma of their relationship, long since gone. Hanamura’s resident “demon-fucker” was now nothing more than a local curiosity… or even a rare, shining example of all that was good and pure in the world. 

Their story was covered in newspapers and magazines: a man, pure of heart, whose vivacious spirit could tame even a monster. 

It was a love story, at the heart of it – and always a tale of loyalty. A hunter who sacrificed his career for a demon, and who wore his red letter with pride. An oni that cared for its elderly partner, even when it had nothing to gain.

They walked slowly, at Jesse’s pace, even going so far as to stop, now and then, whenever the old man needed rest. It was a pleasant walk. One where they could whittle the day away and simply enjoy the comfort of each other’s company. With nothing left on their agenda but to wait until the end of days, they could value life for all that it was, without a single concern in the world.

No concern more pertinent, anyway, than the fact that the park’s concession stand had run out of chocolate ice cream. 

Forced to settle for vanilla, Jesse sat on the park bench beside his demon and _pouted_.

“See, if you’d ever tasted chocolate, you’d understand,” he said, prodding Hanzo in the chest as though their topic of discussion was actually important – though in a way, Hanzo enjoyed the mundane. It was a sign of better, peaceful times.

“I have never even tasted vanilla.”

“…Touché.” 

As Jesse finished off the rest of his ice cream, Hanzo leaned back in against the bench, listening carefully for any cracks or splinters in the wood; he’d had more than one chair collapse underneath him during his life with Jesse. Sure in the fact that all was secure, Hanzo gazed out at the falling sakura petals, losing himself in the swirl of color. Languid, he closed his eyes and drifted off into a state close to sleep – though never quite there. Always just a hair away.

Despite his attempts to calm himself, he could still hear the rush of Jesse’s blood in his veins. He could feel the cool wind in his hair, and his feet, steady against the ground.

A gentle brush against his cheek brought him back into reality. 

He opened his eyes, slowly adjusting to the light just in time to see Jesse, slipping a blossom into his hair. 

“What is this?” he laughed, taking Jesse’s wrinkled hand in his. 

“Just a little present,” the old man replied, looking up at him with the same wonderous fondness that one would show the sun and stars. Jesse leaned up suddenly, as best as he could, to press a gentle kiss to Hanzo’s cheek. “…You’re beautiful, you know that?”

“How could I not, when you say it as often as you do?” 

“I’ll say it again and again,” Jesse repeated, “Every day, until I drive you crazy. …I love you.”

“And I love you. Dearly.”

He said it proudly, with neither fear nor hesitation. Not for the past and not for what the future held. Though Hanzo knew that their time was limited, he knew, by then, that what mattered, beyond all else, was not the possibility of loss or the fear or failure, but the moment of peace between them, now, existing in its own point in time, perhaps isolated from the rest of space and time, itself. 

For surely, if the gods existed, they would never have allowed a demon like him to find peace in a man as kind and as earnest as Jesse McCree. …Or perhaps Hanzo never was as wicked as he thought himself to be, and the gods had forgiven him long ago. 

He looked at Jesse’s smiling face and suspected the latter.

Smiling, he ran his clawed thumb over Jesse’s patchy, white beard, tracing the corner of his jaw. His human leaned into the touch, letting go of his walker to rest his full weight against Hanzo’s shoulder. Together, in the warmth of each other’s company, they sat for what felt like a lifetime in a haze of sakura petals, content to watch the world turn on its own time, life passing by in peaceful silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> This was definitely a complex story - and a difficult one to tell. Please do let me know what you think about it: its characters, the plot, its themes. Similarly, if you have any questions or comments, please feel free to leave them below.
> 
> I hope that you enjoyed Nocturne as much as I enjoyed writing it - and I hope that you will stay with me throughout my next story!


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